By Your Wounds
by Bizzy
Summary: Riza Hawkeye has always been a strong shoulder and means of support for Roy Mustang. After one life changing event, the tables have turned, and she is finding herself relying upon him more than she ever planned. Rated for adult content, not explicit.
1. Prologue

_Author's Notes:_ This is one of my most violent and abusive fics to date. It is graphic and extreme. You need to be fully warned before you read. The situations are adult. You have been warned. That aside, I've been working on this fic since before I posted _Lux Aeterna_, so I'm so excited to be posting! Enjoy!

A boatload of thanks to Dailenna and Causmicfire86 for all of their help as I've muddled through this piece. It is about three-quarters of the way complete right now. I'll post a chapter every few days or so, I think.

* * *

It had been dark for quite a while by the time he told her to get out of the office, for goodness' sake. She agreed with him, as it was 0200 hours on a Saturday morning, and as she buttoned up her coat, she made a promise to call on Sunday afternoon. Though he offered to walk her home more than once, she turned him down, explaining the impracticality of such things, as he lived in the exact _opposite_ direction of her apartment. 

And this was how the evening found her, trudging through a slight drizzle as she started fumbling through her bag for her keys nearly a block away from her apartment. She desperately wanted to get out of the rain; the chill was starting to bite at her and she was more than ready for a cup of tea, a good book and a warm change of clothes. As she considered just what book she planned on digging out of her shelf, she thought she heard someone approaching her from behind—and at nearly two-thirty in the morning, in the _rain_, no less, this was odd. Turning to confront them, she felt strong hands grab her, yanking her backwards. From her other side, she heard footsteps nearing, and felt her stomach tighten at the thought of two people involved in trying to attack her.

She opened her mouth to holler, and tried to wriggle her hands free of the captor's grip so she could get to her pistol, but to no avail. One hand was now squarely pressed against her mouth, and the person she had heard approaching was now patting her down, removing her pistols one-by-one as he found them.

"First Lieutenant Hawkeye," the first growled, his fingers pressed angrily into her cheek as he kept her mouth covered. "You have something we want. If you're willing to give it to us without a fight, we'll let you go."

Her heart was pounding so hard she could hear the beat of it thrumming in her ears. Her hands were trembling even as the man tightened his grip around her; and all the while she tried to imagine what it was that they could possibly want from her.

"Your father was an alchemist, Miss Hawkeye," the second man drawled, his voice laden with an accent she couldn't place. "And he left behind some research. We want it."

Her blood ran cold, and she froze, already realizing that her head was moving slightly from side to side in a rejection of their request. Before she could stop herself, she started fighting back to get away from the man who was holding her, knowing that if they managed to drag her away from the scene they would certainly get the information they wanted.

And with a hollow _thunk_, they brought a metal pipe down on the back of her head, and watched her fall to the ground.


	2. Chapter 2

Her head was pounding when she came back to consciousness. Looking around, she took note of the dimly lit room and cold concrete floor. Carefully, she began to sit up, only to bite back a cry of pain. Her hair, now released from its customary clip, was caked dry and stuck to the floor with blood. _Her_ blood. It took quite a bit of effort to sit up, trying desperately to not tug at the aching strands of hair in the process.

"Looks like she's waking up," the second attacker drawled slowly, sounding far too amused for the situation. "And how are you feeling, Lieutenant?" If he hadn't been speaking with such vehemence, she almost would have fallen for his pseudo-kindness when he gently pressed his hands against her shoulders to steady her. "You're shaking."

"Don't touch me!" It took all of her self control to not spit in his face, though somehow she knew that she didn't have the energy for such things even if she tried. Amber eyes narrowed as she watched her assailant lean back from her. If he said something, she didn't hear it, though she knew he must've spoken when the door opened and the first man stepped in. Going by the vague images she had, Hawkeye recognized this man as the one who had grabbed her, the first attacker. Without realizing it, she tensed.

"Look at this," he smirked, crouching into her immediate range of vision. She became increasingly aware of the odd shape of his face, his thin features and beady dark eyes. They were glinting with a hint of malice as he watched her eyes flicker across the room. "She's scared of me."

There was a weary pause from the other man, and he released her shoulders, fingers sliding against the epaulettes of her jacket before his hands dropped. "That she is."

"Wonder what she looks like underneath all that," the first murmured, inching further into her space. His fingers were running delicately over the gold rope that dangled over her chest, then wandered over to the fold of the jacket. Without a second thought, her hands snatched at his wrists, eyes wide in panic.

"Don't _touch me_, you basta—"

She hardly choked out the statement before he released the jacket and yanked his arms free of her grip, bringing a hard slap to her face, going dangerously close to the previous gaping wound on her head. She shrieked, eyes tearing in pain, and felt the second man grab her arms. He was rough, holding them tightly in his grasp so she couldn't move them.

Wincing, she tried to avert her eyes. The first hadn't needed to do more than bring his hands towards the buttons of her jacket—she knew what he was planning on doing. "Get up."

The other released her, but she couldn't find the strength to get to her feet. The first reached over and took a stern grip of her shoulders, starting to yank. "I said get _up_!" Weakly, she tried to find her center of balance though her head was reeling. With a violent tug, the first had her on her feet, and was yanking on her jacket. Over the pounding of her heart in her ears, she heard the jacket ripping as he tore the blue fabric to shreds, dropping it to the floor.

"Very nice," he said approvingly. The second man, she realized then, had taken his leave of the room. She could not decide if this was a good thing or not. "Turtleneck will not do," he said slowly, his fingers tugging gently on the collar. With shaking hands, she went to push him away, and defensively crossed her arms over her chest.

"Get your hands _off_," she choked out, the statement sounded less like she was threatening him and more like she was begging him. She wasn't certain where her voice had come from, only that it sounded very much unlike her. He was stripping her at his own free will, and all she had the energy—the _courage_—to do was beg. Beg that he would do anything but what she could imagine was coming. "Please…"

"Begging isn't becoming, sweetheart," he snarled, hands wandering to her waist. "We took all of your weapons, I believe. But I'd best check beneath these," he said, tugging at the hem of her pants, "before I consider you all clean. Don't you agree?"

He didn't give her a chance to respond before he was undoing the belt of the uniform pants. Then he was fussing with the button and the zipper, and she started to push away from him again, desperate this time. Her hands were shaking as she scrambled to replace the button, only to find he had snapped it out of place. He was in her face then, the devilish smirk on his pinched features unnerving, his eyes glinting with a barely-contained mirth as he offered her the snapped button.

"Those aren't going back on. Now let it go." His order was strict, but she didn't move, eyes staring, wide as saucers. "Come on now, _Lieutenant_. You're good with following orders. Do what you've been told."

When she remained still, he decided to assist her, suddenly digging his sharp nails into the flesh of the back of her hands. Immediately, she unclenched her fists, withdrawing them from his realm of touch with a startled cry. Without someone holding the clothing properly, they slid down. She swallowed, squeezing her eyes shut when she felt him move for the last scrap of decency she had left, her shirt.

"You're taking all the fun out of this, being so stubborn," he said gently, as though he was making an attempt to soothe her nerves. And with a final devilish laugh, he gripped the back of her turtleneck in both hands, and pulled it viciously upwards, making sure the fabric passed each injury on its' way. Her hands, which he had already scratched, were stinging, and the gash on her head she was certain was bleeding again. The thought alone of standing exposed in front of him was enough to make her nauseated.

"Now that's _much_ better, don't you think?" He gripped her shoulder, tossing the black top amongst the rest of the shreds of her clothing. Taking slow steps, he moved around her entirely, as though surveying a future prospect, every once and again pausing to prod or examine closer. When he stepped behind her, she could almost feel the breath catch in his throat. His hands were unhooking the clasp of her brassiere, and he was fingering the array.

The moment he had taken in his fill of the tattooed image, he spun around in front of her, pushing her harshly to the floor. With all of his weight on top of her, she could vaguely make out that he was unbuttoning his own shirt and pants through her tears.

* * *

Memories of the first few nights with them were unclear. She knew they infiltrated her room more than a few times for their own satisfaction over the first week, and that they would occasionally leave her with a drink of water and some crackers—if she was "good", as they described it. The sense of dignity that she had been so desperate to keep had been stripped away when the first attacker dropped his weight on top of her. In all of her years of life, she had never felt more violated, more disgusted with herself. When she woke up the following afternoon, she had a vivid memory of trying to scrub as much of her body clean with the heavy wool of her military jacket. Which she did, until her skin became raw and irritated, and was flushed the color of ripened berries.

Satiated with pleasure, they turned themselves to decoding the array, which they looked at in every possible light. One morning, they dragged her, naked, outside, so they could see the ink in the rising sun. Some the afternoons, they sat her by the window as they studied. And every late evening, they would have her sit by the fireplace as the light flickered evenly in the background, trying to sear the image into their minds. But after three days of looking at that array in every light they could find, they determined that the burn that marred her back made reading it impossible. So they began to question her.

"What's happened to it?"

Broken and battered, she kept her mouth closed, eyes focused on the floor. She wrapped her hands tightly together, careful to avoid the still-healing skin.

"Who did this to you? It's too focused to be from a natural fire." The second attacker, she had quickly learned, was the smarter of the two. Though the first was far more aggressive, she had realized that the second was by far the brains of the operation.

"I can't…" she heard herself murmur, though her voice sounded distant, as though she weren't really speaking but overhearing another conversation.

The second was grinning maniacally, easing his face into her frame of vision. "It was the Colonel, wasn't it? The one you work for. Mustang, right?"

She must have done something to give herself away, because the second was smirking with satisfaction a moment after revealing what he had figured out. They wouldn't turn and find her Colonel, would they? Drag him down here and torment him as well? And yet they were both looking at her with the same disgusting glint in their eyes that they had when they appeared late at night for their own pleasure and—

"He doesn't _know_ anything!"

The second grinned, and nodded sagely. He surveyed her, arms wrapped tightly over her chest, shuddering on the floor. Her left hand was hanging limply from when she had tried to fight back his partner and ended up with several broken fingers. Her eyes were focused steadily on a crack in the concrete, hair obscuring her features. He had been given the task to keep watch over her whether his accomplice was present or not, and knew she had gotten little sleep over the past week in captivity. If she wasn't already broken, now was the time.

"You'll write him and ask him to come," he ordered.

"I told you, he doesn't know—"

"He burned your back, didn't he? He did that. And no self-respecting alchemist would ruin such a complex array until they understood it completely and had the image memorized. I am not an idiot, Hawkeye. I'm sure you've figured that out by now. You'll write him and tell him to come decipher this for us and fill in the remaining information."

She had sunk further into the floor, shrinking away from his anger and inching towards the far wall. Before she could get far, the first attacker, who had been watching quietly, stood and brought a violent punch to her stomach. Gasping for breath, she fell still, unable or unwilling to move. But he wasn't done. She could hear him pull out something or other, though she couldn't identify it. And then she felt him bring it down on her back, and screamed. A reed, or whip, or something of that nature: thin and flimsy, but incomprehensibly painful when brought down with force.

"You'll do as he says! If he tells you to write a letter to that Colonel Mustang, then you write the letter. If he dictates it to you and tells you exactly what to say, then you _write it_! Are you going to cooperate, bitch, or do I need to persuade you further?"

Shuddering, she nodded, unsure of what else remained for her to do. All her mind comprehended was that she didn't want that stick brought down on her back again, the place of strike still stinging with droplets of blood settling on the skin. She knew that she was so desperate that she'd do whatever they said, if they would just leave her be.

"Good girl."

The second attacker had left, and returned with a pen and sheet of paper, placing them on the floor in front of her, forcing the pen into her uninjured hand. "By the way, Hawkeye, you're going to tell him _exactly_ what's been happening since you turned up missing."


	3. Chapter 3

For nearly two weeks, by then, Colonel Mustang had been beside himself. He at first convinced himself that Hawkeye must have caught the influenza virus that was going around headquarters, or had to run out of town for some emergency. But he knew that it was very much unlike her to disappear for two weeks at a time without giving word to anyone. And when he visited her apartment a week after her absence, he realized that she had not just run out of town, she was _taken_ from town.

At once, he began chastising himself for not walking her home that evening despite her apartment being in the opposite direction. He began berating himself for keeping her in the office that late, as that was one of the things that made her so desperately vulnerable to whoever had come across her and dragged her off. Most importantly, however, he began wondering if she was even still alive after two weeks in captivity.

He had tried to convince some higher-ups to listen to him, but they wanted nothing of it. This was First Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye, they reasoned, who never left her apartment without at least one gun on her person. It was impossible, they believed, for her to have gotten carted off like one average damsel in distress.

But Mustang couldn't just let it go, couldn't find it within himself to assume that she was fine. He knew something just wasn't right, he had faith in that he knew his Lieutenant well enough to know that this was extremely out of character for her. He knew that something was very out of sorts, and came to the conclusion that he would have to figure it out himself as nobody considered helping him.

So how it was that he ended up summoned to the Fürher's office to discuss a suspicious letter was beyond him. He couldn't quite place what it was that the man could really want with him, and so he sat opposite the Fürher as he waited for whatever it was that the man wanted—and inwardly grumbled about how he was wasting time instead of trying to find his Lieutenant.

"We received a letter, Colonel Mustang. From two unidentified kidnappers, who say that they have First Lieutenant Hawkeye with them and want information from her. What I am puzzled by, however, is the handwriting on this note." The Fürher handed him the sheets of paper, held together with a small clip in the top right corner. "And the signature."

Mustang hardly needed to look at the pages before he recognized the writing on the page. "It's hers. That's Lieutenant Hawkeye's handwriting," he swallowed slowly as he started reading. "I'd know it anywhere."

The Fürher was quiet as Mustang read through the two page note.

"It says that they've had her in captivity for almost two weeks now," Mustang murmured, hardly at the bottom of the first page before he was tempted to shred the thing entirely. His fingers were rumpling the paper as he scanned the page. The Fürher nodded slowly.

"It says they attacked her from behind. That they…" he was shaking his head slowly, the paper nearly crumpled up as trash in the heat of the Colonel's temper.

Without allowing Mustang to complete his sentence, the Fürher interrupted. "The note goes on to say that they want information on an alchemical array that she has. It also says that they cannot decipher it, and wanted you to come do it for them. I don't think I understand why they would propose that…"

The other man paled slightly, ink-black eyes focusing wearily on the Fürher. "I do. Where are they? I'm going to get her."

* * *

"That letter should have reached Central headquarters by now, don't you think, _Lieutenant_?"

Every time they spoke her hard-earned title, their voices turned with a disrespectful lilt, as though they were using the term only to tease her. The first man continued to have his way, but by then the second had had his fill. Though they both took time out of their lives to come and torment her, they each had taken different roles.

The first was a nightmare. When he came, he wanted what he wanted, and if she resisted—she still did, despite the exhaustion she could feel deep within her bones—he beat her. Over and over and only when he was satisfied with himself did he proceed. The second, however, had become somewhat gentler. More often than not, he came with water and on occasion a slice of bread. He didn't treat the wounds, but instead would sit her opposite him and copy the array by hand, meticulously, until he had pages upon pages of work.

Today, the first had settled himself in her room. He had a box with him, and he currently held it tucked under his arm as he watched her, still naked, huddling in the corner of the room. "I asked you a question," he hissed, eyes narrowing.

"Yes." She lowered her forehead tiredly against her knees, closing her eyes. She couldn't recall the last time she had felt so bone-weary. Not even in Ishbal had she felt so fully and thoroughly exhausted to the point she was now. She wanted nothing more than to be done. To curl up and sleep for days, until the ordeal was over.

"You remember what it says. That Colonel Mustang better get himself down here by Saturday night." He was opening the box then, and handed her a gown. It was loose, filthy and small. At best, it was a flimsy hospital gown. With one hand, he tossed the 'garment' to her, and sighed. "If he isn't here by midnight on Saturday, you'd best say your prayers; because we'll take the information we want by _force_."

* * *

Mustang had expected the town to be remote, but not so small that there was nowhere for him to stay. It had taken persuasion and his military identification to get a spare room in the local tavern—the only place that was open when he arrived at midnight after a three-day trip by train. He had specifically stopped to make sure he had somewhere to return to before proceeding to the address where the kidnappers and his Lieutenant were.

He had to admit that at least one of these two men were fairly intelligent; the house was at the far edge of the town on a clearly abandoned street. From down the dirt road, he couldn't make out whether or not lights were on. Carefully opening his pocket watch, he checked the time, only to see that it was nearly one o'clock in the morning. At almost an hour late, he could feel his stomach tightening has he began to run towards the house, hoping that the two men would have the consideration to wait a bit longer in hopes that he was on his way.

As he approached the front door, he paused to listen. At first, he heard nothing but shuffling from what seemed like the second floor. And then he swore that he heard a scream and almost kicked the door of the house open as he went inside to search for her.

* * *

"You—" the woman's voice caught in her throat as she tried to tug herself from their grip, "_bastard_!" she shrieked, fingers clawing at the floor, the fiery prong searing through her skin, tears in her eyes. Hands were scraping at the second attacker's grip on her shoulders, desperate to get him to free her.

Instead of encouraging her release, the first attacker only dug harder into her flesh with the knife, and the second only gripped her arms tighter. The first leaned close to her, the fabric of his shirt pressing against the open wound on her back as she recoiled from the touch, and hissed a reprimand in her ear. "Shut up." Order delivered, he leaned back, scraping at the already burning skin, and she hollered in pain, gritting her teeth and yanking away from the one holding her. He slapped her hard against the back of her head, hitting the wound he had given her when they first found her, and she whimpered, struggle fading as pain clouded her vision.

"You shut up, bitch," he threatened, "your Colonel didn't come for you, so you pay the price."

Through a painfully tight throat she choked out, "Just copy the array!" The pleading in her voice disgusted her. The desperation. That she was begging people who were willing to kidnap and kill her just to get information.

She fell still as the first attacker paused, coming around to her front. "You are beyond difficult," he said wearily, setting the knife in the fire for a moment, the heat turning it white-hot. He was at her level on the floor, on his knees. One hand gently caressed her cheek, the smirk on his face devilish and maniacal and _wrong_. "Difficult, but beautiful." The hand slid to her shoulder, to her side, to her chest, wandering and sending shivers down her spine and she tried to pull away so he couldn't _touch _her anymore but to no avail. Even after two weeks the man hadn't had his fill. "Don't be shy," he mumbled, the grin on his face bordering satanic as he knelt closer to her face, his hand again resting on her cheek. "Now, you'll sit still like you were told!" Suddenly, the hand on her face tightened, nails digging into her skin. She let out a gasp and started to pull away but he held tight, leaving a perfect set of scratches against her cheek, all of them bleeding.

Then he turned from her, shoving her form backwards into the second attacker, and returned to his knife. Removing it from the flames, he shot her a look that was indecipherable, and took his position behind her. She fell still, unable to fight back, unable to even try, to even be bothered to try. They were going to skin her alive. They were going to _kill_ her. And all she could do was hope they were quick, because she didn't think she would be able to take their torture for much longer.

* * *

Mustang entered quietly despite his near act of kicking the door in, though it took all of his self control to remain silent. Up the stairs, silently. He could hear voices then, though he could hardly make out the words. First, a man's voice, hearing an obscenity murmured, a slap. Then, he heard whimpering, and a voice that had never sounded so painfully familiar yet so strangely different, pleading with them to copy the array. He knew instantly that it was her, and he started towards the door when he heard a third voice. One hand gently gripped the doorknob, and he opened it just a crack.

He froze. She was pale and bleeding, a loose hospital-gown type shirt hanging on her frame stained a putrid red color. One was holding her shoulders, his hands so tightly against her that his knuckles were white. The other had a knife, which was now skimming around the edges of an alchemical array that he knew well. She was shaking violently, her skin a sickly sallow color, bones protruding from both injury and malnutrition. Whatever self control he had left was gone when he pushed the door open. Three faces turned to him, and he didn't give them a chance to retaliate before he snapped and manipulated the air in such a way to create fire that would, with any luck, startle them into releasing her.

"Remove your hands from her _immediately_!" he yelled. He remained in the doorway, with a way to run in case, just in case he couldn't fight them alone. "I will not be deciphering a damned thing for you if you continue!"

Her blonde head raised from the floor, eyes wide with panic and then relief when she recognized the voice, the face. She yanked against the kidnapper, planting her feet on the ground, and in shock, he released her arms. She staggered forwards a few steps, tripping over her own feet and stumbling. Mustang caught her under the arms, trying to support her frail body. He couldn't hide the guilt at the sheer look of defeat on her face, defeat in every feature and every crease of her skin as she gripped at his shoulders to stay upright.

The kidnappers immediately rounded on Mustang, and his snapping fingers sent them reeling, the sickening heat prickling at everyone's skin. He heard them crash to the floor, and he balanced her carefully against his form as he snapped again, and again. For doing this to _his Lieutenant_, for degrading her to such a point, for having him arrive and to see her looking so defeated, defeated in a way he had never seen her in all his years of knowing her.

Her hand was wandering somewhere beneath his jacket, and he cast her a cursory glance, puzzled, when he felt her grab what she had obviously been looking for. He may not have seen her in nearly two weeks but her memory was good; he kept a firearm in a holster, tucked under his jacket, and she was aware of that fact. It was almost a default, along with the spare ignition cloth glove—a gun for when the rain came. The hand that wasn't holding onto his shoulder to keep herself upright was clicking the safety off the gun with expertise, her eyes wide with something along the lines of terror as she held the weapon ready. But she didn't shoot.

The room was eerily quiet, the only sound being the flames crackling in the background. Mustang's eyes were focused on her shaking hand. She was staring absently at the weapon, her gaze completely blank. There was a moment of a stare-off, Mustang glaring icily at the two kidnappers and the two kidnappers standing at the ready, prepared to retaliate. Finally she pulled the trigger, her aim off perhaps by a centimeter but still landing the man with the knife flat on his stomach on the floor.

Mustang watched, waiting. The second man was scrambling with little success; in his panic he was looking for a weapon that would be effective in a battle of two against one. She still held the gun out and prepared, the man's scrambling slowing her attempt to fire at him. But this time, she did not shoot. With no other choice and in fear of losing her, he snapped. He would face flames—a particularly painful way to die; he made the decision to solidify both deaths and keep her from further harm. When he started screaming, he could feel her recoil against him, the gun slipping out of her fingers and clattering to the floor, misfiring into the wall across the room. Mustang wrapped an arm protectively around her, his gaze shifting to her face. Her eyes were wide and horrified, brows furrowed, and she was trembling.

And as quickly as it had started, it was over. The men were dead. There was no doubt in his mind pertaining to their demise; there was no surviving the flames that he subjected them to. When he was certain that they were dead, he turned just slightly. Hawkeye was looking at him, and the moment amber eyes met obsidian, she burrowed her head into his shoulder and sobbed.

* * *

Author's Notes: Thanks so much for your reviews, guys! I'm working hard...I am going to try to space my postings of the chapters so that I have the entire story finished before I have posted the entire story.


	4. Chapter 4

She was so weak that he decided he would carry her to the small room in the tavern. Just a cursory glance proved that she was not well and that she certainly would not be able to support her own weight all the way to back to the tavern. The entire way back, she cried, clinging to him desperately, her grip so tight it felt as though she were trying to crush him.

He had snuck in the back door and headed straight to the room. Locking the door, Mustang disentangled himself from her arms and set her on the bed, his gaze soft and concerned as he stepped away from the bed for just a moment.

There was a muffled gasp, and he turned to see that Hawkeye was inching closer to the edge of the bed, closer to where he was currently standing. "It's okay," he heard himself say, trying to remain as calm as he could. Part of him still hesitated to even look at her, to register the injuries she had sustained, to see the still present look of fear on her features. "You're okay, Riza."

He returned to the bedside with a quantity of antiseptic and bandages, and started to reach for the shirt that was hanging loosely over her form. She jumped when she felt his fingers nearing the edge of the shirt, and he froze, offering her his palms as a sign of good intent. "I need to clean the cuts," he said gently. "You're okay."

Throughout the process of removing the shirt, cleaning the wounds and bandaging them, he remembered saying 'you're okay' to his First Lieutenant quite a few times. There were places where his touch was not permitted; the lower his hands traveled, the more tense she grew, and when he neared the lowest part of the alchemical array she mustered the strength to shove his hands away. There were cuts there as well, and he knew they needed to be cleaned, and so he did everything in his power to convince her of his innocence before she finally let him continue.

The process of cleaning and bandaging continued for quite a period of time, nearly an hour. He worked as quickly as he could through her hesitance, in hopes of causing her the least pain. When he finally did address the more severe injuries on her body—the four broken fingers on her left hand, the largest gash on her back from the knife, and the still-bleeding wound on her head—he realized that at some point she would need to see a doctor. Though his instinct was to take her to see someone as soon as he could, he was hesitant to do so, acutely aware of how anxious she was around _him_, someone she had known for years. He wasn't ready to subject her to an unfamiliar face at the moment, and he was fairly certain she wouldn't be able to handle an unfamiliar face. He decided that they would leave for Central as soon as she was well enough to walk, and would visit a doctor there.

Until the moment when he dug out a clean nightgown he had gathered, she hadn't spoken a word to him. But as he helped ease her battered body into the article of clothing, she finally spoke. "I…I'm sorry…" Her voice was hoarse and scratchy, distant and so disgustingly _defeated_ that he wanted to scold her for sounding so unlike herself.

"You didn't do anything wrong," he said, gently squeezing her shoulder protectively. "I should have walked you home."

She was shrinking beneath the blankets, her gaze blank. "I convinced you not to," she murmured, words slurring slightly. "And I put you in danger."

"They were going to kill you!" he snapped, immediately regretting his harsh words; he could see her eyes darken when he said that. "Time and time again you show up and keep me out of danger. For once, I got to return the favor."

Her brows were furrowed, her face still a sickeningly pallid color, and she was weakly drawing the blankets tighter around her. Mustang considered the look on her face, and then gently inched her downwards, helping her settle herself on her side. "You need to get some sleep," he said slowly, watching her as she lay stiff as a board in the bed, eyes wide, staring at the wall, and looking wholly uninterested in resting.

For a few moments, she lay quietly, just staring absently at the object nearest her in her range of vision. Mustang watched her lying still, waiting for her to at least show signs of falling to sleep. She did not. "Please rest," he said softly, inching his chair closer to the bed and resting his fingers gingerly on top of her head, fingering the strands of hair soothingly. "You're okay now, Riza. It's over."

* * *

It was two days later before she was strong enough to stand out of bed, and another three days before she could walk around. Many nights she stayed awake, reading whatever he gave her. Though he ventured out of the small room in the tavern quite a few times, she was, at least for the most part, bedridden for the majority of their stay.

Mustang had noticed that she didn't sleep at night, not only because she made a concerted effort to stay awake, but also that when she _did_ nod off, she would wake shortly thereafter. The night he had finally found her, she had fallen asleep, only to wake up with a startled scream less than an hour later. It had taken quite a bit of time for her to settle down again, and when she did, she sat awake for the rest of the night.

Hawkeye still looked ill when they made their way to the train station. He had managed to scrounge up civilian clothes while they were in town that would cover the majority of the bandages she had on, but they looked strange on her. Maybe it was that he couldn't see her hands, as the sleeves of the sweater were intentionally quite long so as to hide the mass of bandages on her left hand. Maybe it was that the oversized top covered her from three centimeters above her neck to below her waist. Whatever it was, she looked _wrong_.

He considered telling her that she had an appointment with a doctor when they returned to Central. Thankfully, Mustang had tracked down an empty compartment for them, which she seemed to appreciate though she said nothing about it. He had had a feeling that there was no way that she was ready to face a handful of strangers, particularly since the train ride back to Central was nearly three days long.

Sitting across from her for an hour was unbearable as she tried for what seemed like the thousandth time to drift off into sleep. Her eyes would flutter slightly as she nodded off, and then snap open after a few moments of rest. The fear on her face made it clear that the memories didn't leave her mind. When she still was falling asleep and waking up after two hours on the train, he moved to sit next to her, taking the coat and laying it over her lap.

"You looked cold," he said gently. It was an excuse, because everything was an excuse. She hadn't looked cold, she looked like she needed an excuse to be near someone she trusted, and looking cold happened to be the most easily accessible excuse.

"Thank you," she mumbled, inching just slightly closer to him. He ran his fingers through her yellow hair, soothing and gentle and patient. Anything to ease her anxieties. Slowly she came to be resting her head against his shoulder, and he wrapped his arm around her. Protective, comforting, everything that they both needed.

Three hours into the train ride, Riza was curled up slightly against him, asleep on his shoulder, and Roy had also fallen asleep with his head atop hers. Stirring slightly, he yawned, inky eyes looking into the mass of yellow hair that he was resting on. Letting out a sigh of contentment, he resituated himself so that he didn't disturb her. After looking for her for weeks, he had found her. And though she was significantly worse for wear, at least he could rest assured that she was still _alive_.

* * *

Author's Notes: This brings the essential 'continuation' of _The Hunt_ to a conclusion--everything from this point on is completely new. I know it's a short chapter, but from where I broke the story into chapters this was the most logical cutoff point.


	5. Chapter 5

Their first order of business upon returning to Central was a trip to the hospital. Though she was now capable of taking several steps in a row and managed to keep herself upright more often than not, he was still thoroughly convinced that there was something wrong with her that went beyond Roy's eyes. It had first started on the train. Within reason, she was exhausted and nodded off on occasion though she rarely slept well, and had developed a cough though he thought it was the direct result of a scratchy throat. What seemed not so much within the realm of possibility fell into subtler things; she was sick to her stomach almost constantly, and would avoid eating to try and quell the discomfort. She also seemed warm to the touch; not necessarily feverish but certainly warmer than he would expect.

And so when the train finally came to the station in Central, Roy immediately guided her off and headed for the nearest hospital that he knew of. As it was late in the evening by then and he had woken her up, she was groggy for the beginning of the walk. However, when she started to realize where they might be headed, he could feel Riza's arms tense as they approached the towering white building.

"Roy…" she murmured, shaking her head. "I don't want…"

"It's okay," he replied softly, keeping a grip on her arm to steady and guide her. "Just a quick checkup, I promise." He made a point at keeping his eyes away from her face; imagining her expression was bad enough.

"But Ro—"

"I promise it will be quick, Riza. But you need to see a doctor."

She seemed to submit to the fact that she had no say in the matter, and grudgingly allowed herself to be lead to the hospital for said checkup. When they arrived, they sat in the triage waiting room for nearly half an hour while they waited. A nurse kept looking Riza over with a weary look of concern, before she finally came over and made a remark about how pallid the woman looked. The moment the nurse approached, however, Roy could visibly see Riza sinking into the chair, eyes wide with muted panic.

"Are you all right, miss? If you really aren't feeling well I might be able to see if someone can see you now…" the nurse looked anxiously from Riza to Roy, waiting for a response.

"The sooner a doctor could see her, the better," Roy quickly replied before Riza even opened her mouth. "She really isn't feeling well and we just returned from out of town."

"Of course, sir, I'll see if there is someone who can spare time to see her now." The nurse and Roy, Riza realized with a mild look of disgust, were talking about her as if she weren't there.

"Roy," she mumbled, drumming the fingers of her right hand nervously in her lap, "I really don't want to see a doctor." The way she stated the phrase made her sound more afraid of seeing a doctor than trying to argue her way out of it.

"I know," he replied gently, resting his palm against her drumming fingers. "Just a little while longer."

The nurse returned shortly thereafter, and cheerfully guided them into the rooms of the emergency department, explaining that she had found one of the more friendly doctors on his break and that he was happy to take a quick look at one Miss Riza Hawkeye if it meant that she could go home sooner.

Now Riza was staring vehemently at the hospital gown that the nurse had provided her as she sat on the examination table. The ties alone looked menacing, and the thought of the last time she had seen such a gown left her sick to her stomach. Roy was waiting patiently outside the small room while she 'changed', but slowly she eased herself to the floor and cracked the door open.

"Have you changed?"

She shook her head slowly, stepping aside to leave him room to come in. Roy eyeballed her curiously, and then realized that the hospital gown looked suspiciously similar to the gown he had found her in. He scooped it off the small examination table and set it on the counter. "I don't think the doctor will mind."

They sat quietly in the exam room for a few moments, before finally there was a knock on the door and a middle-aged man in a white coat walked in quietly.

"Good evening Miss Hawkeye," he said far too cheerfully for the late hour. It was nearing midnight. "My name is Doctor Bethune. What can I do for you today?"

Riza looked slowly from the doctor to Roy, unsure as to where to even begin. Her stomach ached and she was starting to feel faint from nerves. Hesitant, she offered the doctor her left hand, though there were certainly other, more serious injuries to attend to.

The doctor took her wrist gingerly and rolled up the sleeve of the oversized sweater, revealing her shoddily bandaged hand. Without a word, he slowly unraveled the bandages, revealing four very crooked and out-of-sorts fingers. "How did you manage to do this?" the doctor asked slowly, "if you had fallen then they would be broken in the same place." While he waited for her response, he went to the opposite side of the room, returning with small splints and clean bandages, frowning. She remained silent.

"Miss Hawkeye," the doctor said warningly, "I need to know how this happened." His fingers were still gingerly wrapped around her wrist, eyes traveling down the bruises and scratches over the limb.

Roy was looking at Riza, waiting to see if she would respond. Riza, however, just winced as the doctor snapped each bone back into place and splinted them tight to allow them to heal. For a few moments, Bethune went about his work with quiet determination, until he lost his patience with her.

"Miss Hawkeye, you'd best explain to me how you've managed to become injured, or I will have to figure it out." He sounded irate. His voice was wavering just slightly, and his dark eyes swung around the room to land on one very distressed looking Roy Mustang.

Riza swallowed, her eyes still wide and uncertain. Finally, she murmured her response. It was quiet and hesitant, as though she couldn't even bear to admit what those men had done to her out loud. As though speaking the words of the disgrace they had brought to her would only solidify the things they had done.

Bethune leaned closer, "Did I hear that correctly? Attacked, taken out of town, rap—"

"Yes." She didn't allow him to finish. Couldn't. And Roy stood anxiously in the corner of the room, watching uncertainly. "Yes. That's…what happened."

For a moment, there was mutual silence from the three occupants of the room. The clock was ticking in the right corner and somewhere far off a machine was beeping. Bethune swallowed, turning from the patient and heading for the cabinet. "That makes things a bit more difficult."

* * *

Riza proved to be a very well-behaved patient—for the most part. She allowed poking and prodding, assuming the door was not fully closed and she was not left in the room alone with the unfamiliar doctor. It was when he wanted to shut the door fully for a _proper_ examination of her nether regions that she panicked and fought back.

She fought back to the point where they brought in a sedative to still her enough to allow a proper examination. Disgusted with himself, Roy took a position at the head of the small hospital cot, his fingers settled in her hair, gently stroking it to try and soothe her frazzled nerves, murmuring words of assurance to her as he kept his gaze focused on the wall over the doctor's head.

"Mister Mustang, there is a substantial amount of tearing and—"

"I don't need an _anatomy _lesson!" Roy snapped, his eyes flashing.

"I apologize. Has she made any comment about how many times they did this to her?" Bethune paused, and Roy found himself disturbed by how conversational the man could be during such a personal examination. "From what I can see, it was not a one time thing; they raped her multiple times."

The word _rape_ sounded so violent he wished that the doctor had used a different term.

"I would make a very reserved estimate at perhaps five times, maybe six. The likelihood that it was more than that is particularly high, but I have no intention of asking her. I'm concerned that she might have conceived."

He felt the bottom drop out of his stomach, dark eyes staring absently at the doctor. "_What_?"

Bethune sat upright, completed with his examination. He carefully stripped off the rubber gloves he was wearing and tossed them into the waste basket, frowning, and the lines on his face deepening as he thought. "I believe she might be pregnant. She's displaying all of the early signs, and the likelihood could be very high with all things considered."

Roy's fingers fell still, hanging limply in Riza's hair, his gaze darkening. "What is the probability of that?"

"I would say at least seventy percent, if not more."

* * *

The phone booth was small, and it seemed overcrowded with Roy and his fury as he glared at the wall, waiting for Maes to answer the damned telephone. Every ring had him questioning whether this was a good idea or not—more than once, Roy was tempted to hang up.

"Hullo?"

Roy grimaced. It was reasonable to expect Maes to be asleep, but he hadn't wanted to—"Hughes."

On the other side of the line, Maes rubbed his eyes, trying to awaken himself to comprehend the anger in Roy's voice. "Roy? Whatsamatter? It's almost four in the morning…"

"Those _pricks_ had their way with her, Hughes," Roy murmured into the receiver, his gaze darkening just at the very thought. "An examination proved what their letter said. Doctor estimated six times at the absolute least. _Six times_, Hughes!" His fist collided with the wall in front of him, desperately trying to fight back a more violent reaction.

Maes struggled to process the information. _She_ could, of course, mean any host of people, but Maes knew few members of the opposite sex that Roy would bother calling him at four o'clock in the morning about, and only one of which he would be so defensive of. "You found Hawkeye?"

Roy coughed. "Who do you _think_, Hughes?!"

"Roy," Maes said slowly, hesitantly, as he sat up properly and inched away from the bed he shared with Gracia. He didn't want to wake his wife. "You need to calm down."

"The doctor thinks that the chances of her having conceived by one of those sons of bitches are high! He thinks she might be _pregnant_, Maes—pregnant. By one of those _pricks_." Roy could feel his fingernails digging into the flesh of his hand as he struggled to keep himself from slamming his fist into the wall once again.  
"Unless you want to attract a crowd and alert the world to Lieutenant Hawkeye's current situation, I'd lower my voice," Maes said warningly.

Maes could hear a few ragged breaths on the opposite side of the telephone line, each one more of an irritated gasp than anything else. Roy didn't respond. "And knowing you, I'm pretty sure there's nothing left for you to do to them, because they faced your wrath already. Am I right?"

There was no answer; the only sound was the shaking breathing of one particularly infuriated Roy Mustang. Maes knew from the moment the letter came in that things wouldn't end well for anyone involved. Roy was extremely protective of his subordinate officers, particularly Riza. Maes had determined that it wasn't because Riza was the only female officer in the group (because when all was said and done she could defend herself far better than most of the other officers), but because of the two's friendship. It had grown over the years of them working together, but Maes had noticed right away that there was some sort of connection. She protected him, and he protected her.

As for those idiots who did this to her, Maes knew they were dead. There was no escaping Roy's fury when he was this angry. He didn't want to really consider how things had ended for them when Roy found Riza, but it didn't take an Investigations officer to figure out that the two kidnappers were long gone. "Roy?"

There was no answer on the other side of the telephone line, and Maes paused, listening. Roy was still there; he could hear the breathing, and every once and again a mumbled curse. "You're at the hospital, right?"

Roy snapped out of his trance, shaking his head a bit. "What? Yeah. We're at the hospital."

Maes sighed, frowning. "What room is she in?"

"Hughes I don't think she wants—"

"What _room_ is she _in_?" The serious tone that sank into Maes' voice made Roy realize that the man was particularly concerned. Maes would be coming to the hospital, with Roy's permission or not.

"One-oh-three," Roy said tiredly, swallowing.

"Good. Don't go anywhere, I'll be there in a few minutes."

* * *

Maes had been concerned about the condition of his friends the whole way to the hospital, and more so as he trekked down the abandoned hallway at the indecent hour of the night. Roy wasn't hard to find; sitting alone outside of a halfway-closed door on a chair that had obviously been dragged out of the room, the man looked bone tired and unreceptive.

It took a moment's consideration, but Maes made the decision to bypass the weary looking Roy, and peered into the hospital room. The sight stalled his breath, and he shook his head quickly to snap himself out of it. At first, under so many bandages and so properly tucked into bed, it was as though he were attending her funeral, not visiting her in the hospital. It took several minutes of watching her chest rise and fall as she inhaled and exhaled to confirm that she was not dead.

Satisfied, he turned to Roy, who was absently staring at him.

"Sitting out here isn't helping her," Maes said cautiously. He slid his hands into his pockets, and frowned, leaning against the doorframe. "What the hell happened to her?"

Roy tensed, looking up. "Exactly what I told you happened," he snapped, eyes flashing in anger. His fists were tightly balled, and he swallowed thickly, trying to restrain his frustrations. Maes hadn't done anything—it was those two piles of ashes who—

"Calm down. Think about it; this is Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye. She's been long known for her even temper and hesitance to accept any sort of assistance. But she let you take her here. Don't you realize that means that she _trusts_ you? That she's at the point of willingly accepting your help, because things are that bad? Because maybe, for once, she needs you? You can't possibly be that dense, Roy."

Every word that tumbled from Maes' mouth was a slap to the face. "Shut up, Hughes."

"You aren't helping her by acting like this," Maes replied slowly, green eyes peering slightly at the still-asleep Riza. In the back of his mind, he was aware of how much they must have drugged her; from what he recalled, she was a particularly light sleeper. Roy's conversation on the telephone ordinarily would have woken her.

"It didn't help much that I let her walk home alone at 0200 hours, either," Roy spat, voice dripping with sarcasm. Maes wasn't surprised by the man's defensiveness, but that didn't leave him _content_ with Roy's behavior, either.

"You told me you offered to walk her home a couple of times and she turned you down. Contrary to what your guilty conscience would have you believe, Riza is a grown woman and she's perfectly capable of making her own decisions—whether you like said decisions or not." Maes frowned, looking at the floor warily. "Calming down would help her now. She needs you."

The shorter man's fists slowly unclenched as he took a few hesitant steps back into the hospital room, scooping up the armrest of the chair and bringing it back into the room with him. Roy warily placed the chair where it had originated, and then continued over to the bed. Sighing heavily, he looked down at the sleeping form. She was propped carefully on her left side—the wounds on her back required at least some time without pressure on them, and the broken ribs on the right side of her chest did not lend themselves to a comfortable rest. Until about two hours ago, he had never realized that lying down for a rest could be so complicated.

"Does she know?" Maes was standing opposite Roy, next to the hospital bed.

"No. She was pretty sedated by the time Bethune got that far," Roy replied slowly, swallowing.

Both men fell into a comfortable silence, eventually returning to the chairs set in the corner of the room by the window. Roy rested his chin against his palms, elbows on his knees, intently watching Riza as though afraid to shift his gaze. Maes chose to step out of the room only once, calling Gracia to warn her that he would not be home until the next day. By the time Maes returned, Roy was sitting upright again, waiting for him.

"Something wrong?"

Roy shook his head, glancing up at the ceiling, "thanks for coming."


	6. Chapter 6

Everything—and unlike most other uses of the term, she really meant _everything_—ached. Her skin felt raw, feverish, and sore. Whatever drug they had given her was wearing off, and her head was pounding, thumping to the beat of her heart as she tried to blink her vision clear long enough to realize her surroundings. The first thing she made out was a shock of dark hair, the head tilted forwards and apparently asleep. After a few moments of staring she realized it was Roy, his chin resting against his chest, squeezing his coat in both arms, mouth hanging open as he slept. A development that she hadn't been aware of, however, was that Maes Hughes sat beside him, the bespectacled man snoring with his head rested against the wall behind him.

They were sleeping—and she would've given near anything to be asleep as well, considering the way her mind couldn't formulate a complete sentence and her head was throbbing.

A knock at the door snapped her from her reverie, and she turned wearily, the pounding against her skull intensifying and then dissipating just slightly. There stood one very tired looking Doctor Bethune, a clipboard in his right hand. He was frowning, and the dark circles beneath his eyes convinced her that he probably had not gone home that night. What time was it, again?

"Good morning, Miss Hawkeye." He was quiet, because he too could see the two men sleeping on the opposite side of the room. Placing the clipboard on a small table, he slid his hands into the pockets of his lab coat and crossed over to her, the frown deepening. She became acutely aware that he was doing everything in his power to not meet her eyes.

"Doctor," she murmured, gingerly pressing the fingertips of her right hand against her temple, rubbing the vein slightly to ease the pressure. It did not help.

Bethune looked as though he had something to say. The grim countenance he carried with him was unsettling, and the way he peered at her over reading glasses only added to her concerns. "Is your head bothering you? I can get you something to take if that is the case."

Riza contemplated the offer, and then nodded graciously. She wasn't a fan of overmedication but she would take anything to cease the throbbing. "Before you go," she asked—mumbled, really. She stumbled over the words, hoping that it was just the effects of the medicine she'd been given the night before. "Any tests? Do you have any of them. Back, I mean. The results."

The doctor watched her sputter over the words, and frowned. He was so close to getting out of the room, hoping that perhaps he could tell her when Mister Mustang was awake as well, but no. No, she had asked, and he could not deny her the answer. "Perhaps you'd like Mister Mustang's support."

She winced. Wanting Roy's support was reasonable, but for Bethune to mention it meant that said test results were not ideal. She looked at the sleeping heads of Roy and Maes, moved to swing herself out of the bed and then froze when she felt the doctor's hand on her shoulder, stilling her. He helped her resituate herself and then walked over to the sleeping men himself.

"Mister Mustang," Bethune said quietly, arms crossed. Roy did not move. "Mister Mustang, if you would please wake up I have the results of the tests we ran last night." He grimaced. How was it that a military Colonel could sleep through someone directly addressing him? "Mister Mustang, wake up!"

"Huh? What?" Snapping awake, Roy slammed the back of his head against the wall as almost jumped out of the chair. Obsidian orbs tried to process who was standing in front of him. "Oh, Doctor Bethune." With one hand, Roy shook Maes awake. "Is everything all right?"

Bethune stepped away from the two men, watching the other with the glasses stretch and yawn, looking around the room. "As I said, I have the results of the tests we ran last night." He saw Roy involuntarily stiffen, the other man swallow tightly. Riza was unresponsive, her gaze slightly glossed over. "The infections will heal, and though you will need medicine for them they are not my greatest concern. The positive result on the pregnancy test—"

"What?"

Riza was suddenly paying attention. Her amber eyes darkened, trying to process the information. "Why did you...you never said anything about running…"

Roy swallowed, looking to the floor. "I asked him to."

The woman's head snapped to the side, and she visibly winced at the throbbing. "Why?"

Roy couldn't bring his gaze to meet her eyes, and shifted his weight uncomfortably like a child being scolded. Maes made the decision to pipe in, and he did so with expertise that could only be mastered by a man who had helped his wife through a very hormonal pregnancy. Gingerly he sidestepped the doctor and stood beside Riza's bed. "According to Roy, the doctor presumed—and rightfully, I'd suppose—that what those men did to you was not a one-time deal. Am I right?"

The sour grimace on her face contorted, the creases of her eyes tightening to where a small tear slid out. She did not answer.

"The doctor suggested it, and Roy agreed. He asked him to run the test."

It was quiet in the room for a few moments. Riza struggled with the information, and by then Roy had approached her as well, hesitant. She wasn't angry with him, he didn't think. Upset, most likely, but not angry. "I'm sorry, Riza."

* * *

Less than three hours later, all forms were filed and properly stored away, and Riza was released from the hospital. Her gait was a bit more even as she trudged down the way to Maes' car, who had offered to give them a ride. She was holding a small envelope with a photocopy of the results of each test they had run and a few information pamphlets about taking care of herself and the baby of whom she did not want to acknowledge.

Roy walked suspiciously close to her, his gaze trained on her face, every once and again resting his palm flat against the small of her back, guiding her footsteps. Maes sat in the front seat of the car, peering at the two of them as Roy made certain she was seated comfortably before choosing to sit himself. He sat beside her.

"Where to, Roy?" Maes' voice snapped the man from his momentary reverie, and Roy stopped to consider this. Where _did_ they plan on going, exactly? She was in no condition to be staying by herself, particularly since doctor's orders indicated bed rest for a least another week.

"Riza?" Roy turned, waiting for the woman's response. Her gaze was fixated on the back of the seat in front of her, hands folded tightly in her lap. She did not respond to her name, instead continuing to stare absently. Roy wondered, with an uneasy turn of his stomach, what she was thinking about. A moment after wondering this, he decided that he was much better off not knowing.

"My apartment," he finally declared, shifting till he could meet Maes' eyes in the rearview mirror. He seemed to be nodding in slight approval of Roy's decision. Maes switched on the turn signal and moved into the far lane, prepared to make his way to Roy's apartment.

"C...can we pick up Black Hayate and a change of clothes first, please?"

Her voice sounded hesitant, and the fact that she even had a question to ask surprised them both as she had nothing to say just a few moments earlier when they tried to ask her a specific question. Roy nodded, gingerly pressing one hand against her knee. "Of course."

* * *

Maes was holding the small overnight back that she had packed as they walked up to Roy's apartment building; Riza insisted upon holding Black Hayate's leash herself. Hayate was on cloud nine, bouncing about his mommy, licking her shoes and yapping at her every once and again. Riza trudged along, Roy's hand still guiding her, taking each step slowly.

Going up the first flight of stairs was not an issue; though she was a bit winded at the first landing she continued upwards. The second flight of stairs was causing a problem—on the second landing she paused, tightly gripping the banister for her balance, slightly bent over as she tried to catch her breath. By the third floor, Roy was just glad his apartment was here because he was fairly certain someone would've been carrying her had they needed to go higher.

Hayate bounded around the corner, and Riza yanked on the leash to keep the dog in check. From the corner of his eye, Roy spotted a figure standing in front of his door, and paused. The military blue was immediately recognizable, and as the trio stopped at the corner, Second Lieutenant Jean Havoc turned, a manila envelope at hand.

"Hey Chief!"

Riza exchanged a quick glance with Roy, stood up a bit straighter and forced the grim look from her features. Roy started forward, leaving Riza and Maes to follow at their own pace. "Havoc. What are you doing here?"

"Been dropping off some of the more important work, sir." Jean waved the manila envelope and smiled haphazardly, the unlit cigarette dangling loosely from his mouth. "Lieutenant Hawkeye, I'm glad to see you're back in one piece."

If she was caught off guard by the protective nature of Jean's statement, it was nothing compared to her surprise when he thrust the envelope into Roy's hands and crossed over to her, the grin widening as he took the leash from her hands, offering her a mock salute. "We were worried sick. How are you?"

The blonde officer tried so hard to be lighthearted. He was a trained soldier and as a human being with _eyes_ it would be difficult if not impossible to miss the bandages wrapped on her head, arm and hand, not to mention the white lines peeking up from beneath her sweater. Jean Havoc was making a particular point by not commenting on what he saw. "I'm all right, thank you," Riza mumbled quietly, reaching for Hayate's leash.

Jean smiled at her and ruffled her hair, the brotherly action not quite unlike him and yet more tactile than he ordinarily was. It was another silent sign of his concern for her. "Just take care of yourself, okay?" The smile dissipated and he crossed his arms, letting her take the leash from him. "We don't like it when you aren't around."

The genuine concern was touching, and Riza tightened her fingers around the leash, uncertain as to how to respond to him. True to his nature, Roy stepped between then, clapping a hand on Jean's back. "Thank you very much for dropping by, Havoc. I'll bring in these files tomorrow."

Again, the man made a particular point to pick up on what was not being said—_get out_—and raised a hand in salute, this time a proper one. "Sure thing." He trotted down the hallway, stopping at the corner and turning, "hey Chief, you better take good care of her, okay? We want a full report tomorrow when you come in!"

"Go _home_, Havoc!"

"I'm going, I'm going."

* * *

One of the doctor's most stringent orders was that Riza was to remain in bed for a week spare using the restroom and bathing. Riza had boldly argued the point as Roy first negotiated her into the guestroom, left her with the overnight bag to change, and went to see Maes out the door. When he returned, she was standing in the hall, arms crossed with a tail-wagging Black Hayate sitting beside her.

Finally settled, Roy thought the protesting would end here. Instead, Riza's argument only grew stronger and far more stubborn when he said he was going to cook her dinner and bring it in there for her to eat. Despite all of her protest, on this Roy did not waver, and so she found herself seated in pajamas and Roy's guest bed, staring at a small tray of soup with a biscuit and a glass of water, a small blue pill on the side.

"What's this?"

Her gaze landed on the pill, and Roy guiltily swallowed.

"Sleeping pill. He had asked how you had been sleeping at some point—don't remember when—and insisted that he prescribe something to help with the minor problem that you were spending most of your nights awake." Roy looked at his hands uncomfortably.

"I don't want to take any other medications. The antibiotic medications are plenty," Riza replied stubbornly, looking down into the broth of the chicken soup Roy had made for her. He had his bowl in his lap, and was stirring it slowly to keep his hands busy.

"It's not healthy to stay up all night."

Riza shook her head. "I don't want to be drugged into anything." She sounded tense, agitated, apprehensive. And she was certainly not planning on taking that pill.

"He said you need it. I have to agree with him. Last night you slept straight through without waking up—first time you've done that in a few weeks, right? You need to sleep, and if the medicine will help with that then there's no reason to refuse it."

Riza was shaking her head, "I am not taking it. I don't think it's particularly—"  
"What about the _baby_, Riza?!"

The moment the comment tumbled from his mouth he regretted it. The look on her face darkened as though he had just slapped her, and she visibly tensed. Her uninjured right hand balled into a fist, and her gaze pointedly moved to the wall on the opposite side of the room. Immediately, Roy began to apologize. "I didn't mean it to sound like it did. Listen to me." Riza did not turn from where she was looking, and Roy hesitantly cupped her cheek. "Riza, please. I didn't mean for it to sound quite like that…"

The blonde winced slightly, and swallowed. Her gaze was particularly distant, her usually expressionless exterior reinforced by the gaunt appearance of her features. Through the thin skin he could see that her jaw was tightly clenched and her eyes were straining against something. Her lips contorted slowly into a somber frown, and she nodded. "You're right."

Though Riza's reaction was not what he was expecting, he couldn't deny that he was pleased with it. He hadn't liked the momentary look of panic in her eyes when he commented about the child, but he had remembered reading that a woman with child could get ill if the child miscarried during the pregnancy. It was preventable, in some ways—and he was desperate to keep the Riza he had retrieved from those two men as safe as he could. He might not be capable of undoing their damage, but he couldn't see how his broken second-in-command could handle another blow; he wanted nothing more than to prevent that from happening.

"The…baby hasn't done anything but exist, Roy," she mumbled, dipping the spoon on her tray into the soup. "Nothing more. Just…exist. I shouldn't—I _can't_—punish them for that."

* * *

Author's Notes: Another slightly short-ish chapter. I'm nearly done writing this now, I'm very excited. Please read and review. 


	7. Chapter 7

The next morning, Havoc arrived early to deliver the news that First Lieutenant Hawkeye had returned to Central, and that despite her attempts to seem even on her feet and perfectly well off, he was still concerned about her.

"She's staying with Colonel Mustang?" Fuery crossed his arms slightly. He was concerned enough about Hawkeye; she had gone missing for over two weeks before Mustang received a letter about her whereabouts—and from Mustang's reaction to said note, things could not have been going well for the woman.

"Yeah. At least I think so—she had an overnight bag and Black Hayate was with her." Havoc slid back in his chair, frowning. "She looks like shit."

"What did you expect, Havoc? She was kidnapped for over two weeks," Breda snapped. "I don't want to know what she looks like. Is she _okay_?"

Havoc considered the question, and shook his head slowly. "No."

The men considered this. Breda swallowed heavily and Fuery looked around the room nervously. Falman was sitting quietly on the opposite side of the room, but it was clear from the way he peered up from the papers he was not touching that he was listening carefully to every word. The awkward silence draped heavily for an agonizingly long three minutes before the door swung open and Lieutenant Colonel Maes Hughes bustled in, looked uncomfortably tired but concerned.

"Morning everyone. Where's Roy?" Hughes surveyed the bothered faces of the room, and frowned.

"Not here yet," Fuery replied slowly, slipping his hands into his pockets. "If you need something we can tell him you came…"

Hughes shrugged, "no. I was hoping he wasn't here. I wanted to give you lot a heads up."

Immediately, all four of them were on their toes, anxiously listening. Havoc had said earlier that Hughes had been with Mustang when he and Hawkeye returned to the apartment the night before. This could easily mean that Hughes had information that Havoc did not. Four pairs of curious eyes stared at him, and Hughes held up his hands wearily in self defense.

"I just wanted to tell you to not piss off Roy and do what you can to help Hawkeye out when she comes back," Hughes mumbled slowly. "This whole thing has been rough on them both so far." Hughes swallowed, seeing the curious looks on everyone's face only growing with his comment.

"But she's all right?" Fuery couldn't help himself, the question making its way out before he could even contemplate keeping his mouth shut.

Lieutenant Colonel Hughes shuffled his feet slightly, his gaze focused on the floor. "Well, she isn't dead. All things considered, that's quite the accomplishment."

The door swung open suddenly, almost hitting the distressed Hughes in the head, and Mustang stomped in, blatantly exhausted and thoroughly irritable. He shot a nasty glare at Hughes, and beckoned the taller man to follow him. The two made their way into the small conference room adjoining the office. Mustang rarely used it unless there was a need for a private conversation—and from the only slightly muted screaming coming from the other room, it seemed reasonable to assume that the conversation taking place presently was private. At the very least, it was _intended_ to be private. But through the thin door, the men were certain they overheard one word that they never expected to attach to First Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye: pregnant.

* * *

Riza's patience to remain in bed expired long before the bed rest order did. For the first week, Roy was uncomfortable leaving her in his apartment alone—an awareness that both Riza and the men in his office became acutely aware of. On a daily basis, Roy would call at least once (he was just making sure she was all right, he claimed).

So when her order to bed rest had been lifted for four days, Riza chose to return to the office. She had made a particular point not to mention it to Roy; his kindness was greatly appreciated and his concern was genuine—but the doting behavior unnerved her and she was certain he would protest her decision.

As 0900 hours rolled around on a chilly Tuesday morning, she scrambled to dress and head to the office—she had been waiting for Roy to leave first—and started her walk to headquarters. Black Hayate was first to enter the office, several meters ahead of her. Breda yelped at the little black-and-white intruder, and Fuery immediately went to scratch the puppy's ears. Mustang, on the other hand, grimaced.

"Lieutenant Hawkeye!"

Sure enough, Hawkeye was all of three steps behind the dog. Standing in the doorway (Fuery and Hayate blocked the path), she looked uncomfortable; there was no denying that she seemed to be expecting a reprimand. To prevent such happenings, Havoc stood, nudging Fuery and Black Hayate out of the way with his leg.

"Hello again, Lieutenant. You look well."

Mustang visibly tensed, and Havoc took it as a sign to back off. It was clear that Mustang was, at the very least, displeased by her unexpected presence. "What are you doing here?"

Now she was making her way to her desk, hanging her small bag over the back of her chair and taking a seat. Without missing a step in sifting through files and not a change in her expression, she replied: "working, sir."

Her response seemed to aggravate him further. "I know that you are _working_. I didn't know you planned on coming in today. This environment can't be good for you or the b—"

The pointed glare Mustang was on the receiving end of silenced him immediately. For the time being, at least, Hawkeye wanted to maintain secrecy about what had happened; in fact despite his concerns, she even refused to answer any of his questions on the matter.

"Or who, sir?" Poor Fuery. The kid had no idea how much trouble he was about to get himself into. Behind his glasses, though, there was a muted look of genuine concern. His kind heart made him the perfect target for office pranks, but the compassion was never misplaced.

"It's nothing, Sergeant," Mustang snapped.

"With all due respect, sir, I beg to differ." Falman seemed to think that he ought to enter the conversation at this point. Hawkeye's demeanor had already changed; the irritated glare had dissipated and was replaced with an expression that bordered on panic.

"Warrant Officer, it does not concern you."

"You know, Lieutenant," Havoc said hesitantly, his voice pointed directly at the disgruntled First Lieutenant sitting across the room, "you don't have to keep whatever's bothering you to yourself."

The tension was nearly tangible.

Mustang seemed to be considering Havoc's statement and perhaps Hawkeye's answer. Fuery impulsively scratched Black Hayate's head. Across the room, Breda and Falman exchanged wary looks of concern.

"I'm pregnant," Hawkeye finally mumbled, voice lacking its usual power. She kept her gaze strongly fixated on the desk.

"Oh."

This was clearly not what they had been expecting. Even with the shouting match between Hughes and Mustang looming over their minds, where they thought they overheard Lieutenant Hawkeye's name and pregnant in the same sentence, there had been no substantiation to such a claim. Somehow, however, they knew congratulations were not in order. Simply by how she admitted the fact, Hawkeye was upset about the development.

Fuery was the first to speak. "Well…I think you'll make a great mother."

* * *

That night, Riza was in a frenzy.

"Riza, calm down." Roy had a feeling that her very bothered state was somehow prompted by events in the office earlier that day. After Fuery had commented about her parenting skills, she had been silent and worked without comment for the rest of the afternoon.

"Sir, I can't…I'm not _suited_ for raising a…I couldn't continue working, support myself and a child. I can't—I've never been the motherly type, cut out for child rearing."

Roy took her panic in stride, managing to get a good grip on her wrist when she paced past him for the thirty-second time. "You need to relax, and you'll make an excellent mother. I've seen you watch Elysia. The girl loves you and you're very good with caring for her."

She tensed in his grip, her jaw tightening, "But this will be _my_ child. I will watch them and be a part of their lives…I just _can't_…" she fell still, one hand nervously fingering her holster. In her state of disarray, she had yet to even take off her boots after returning from work.

"Riza, _listen_ to me. You're perfectly suited for the responsibility. You can raise a child." He hated seeing her so uncomfortable. He had been reading those little pamphlets the doctor had given her, and knew that such a state of arousal was not good for a growing child. Like a doting father-to-be, Roy was greatly concerned with Riza's health.

She was trembling just slightly, a barely noticeable amount. "I can't imagine looking into their faces again, Roy." Her voice tapered off, the wavering nearly undetectable.

Now he was starting to understand her concerns; now it made perfect sense. Just a little over two months ago, she had been kidnapped and carted out of town, repeatedly raped and tortured. And every day for the rest of her life, she would wake up and look at the offspring of one of the men who did this to her. He realized the further weight of the situation without needing to really contemplate it: with a child to raise, she could never move on.

"You could put the child up for adoption," he suggested nervously.

Amber eyes skated over the room, hesitant and uncertain. Her mind was coming up with hundreds of reasons why she shouldn't put the child up for adoption. "There's no way to guarantee their safety, their well being. There would be so many things that would be out of my control…"

"You could be involved in their life and keep in touch with the parents," he replied stiffly. He was working out the situation in his mind and faced a very similar paradox that it seemed she was facing. Giving the child away would leave them—_her_, he sternly reminded himself—incapable of influencing their life. Theoretically, any good parent could ensure that the child would be raised right. But he could see her concerns: there would be no guarantee unless she did the job herself.

Riza paused, her jaw tightly set. "I don't know enough of the process," she mumbled, "nor would I have any right to attempt to involve myself in the life of a child I chose to abandon." The painful resignation in her voice was borderline intolerable. He winced.

"Deciding to put a child up for adoption because you don't have or feel as though you have the means for raising them well is _far_ from my definition of 'abandonment', Riza. Don't get yourself caught up in that—if adoption is the path you choose to take, it is a decision you made specifically in the child's best interest, not yours. Am I right?" Roy took her shoulders in his hands, gripping them, forcing her to look at him. Riza tried to shift her gaze to the floor, but he caught her cheek and gingerly directed her eyes at him. "Right?"

Without a word, she nodded. He could feel her swallowing uncomfortably against his hands, and he loosened his grip on her shoulders, swiping a stray strand of hair from her eyes. Where he expected her to pull away, she remained still, amber eyes drooping slightly as she allowed herself to return the touch, resting her palms against his shoulders.

"You're doing the right thing, Riza," he mumbled softly into the mass of yellow hair just under his nose. "And I'll do everything I can to make it easier for you."

* * *

Author's Notes: Sorry guys, another short chapter...I feel like my chapters are all short but I need to try and break them into logical chapter-like pieces...sorry! 


	8. Chapter 8

The next morning brought about Riza's first doctor's appointment strictly involving the health of the baby. Doctor Bethune himself recommended the obstetrician, one Martha Ballard, a kindly old woman who was informed of the precarious circumstances in advance. Roy was adamant that he attend the appointment with her, and Riza was feeling so ill to her stomach she had no viable protest.

"Good morning, Miss Hawkeye…and who is this gentleman?" Ballard's eyes glistened, her expression clearly showing her pleasure that Riza was not alone.

"Roy Mustang. We've been working together for years." Roy was the one to get the statement out first as Riza was sitting painfully still, a hand resting against her stomach.

"You're just a bit pale—are you all right?" Ballard crossed her arms, waiting for a response. When none came, she bent slightly so her face was directly in Riza's line of vision. "Is your stomach bothering you, dear?" Her response was a tense nod. "All right then, the restroom is right there if you need it. Would you like me to—"

Ballard jumped out of the way of the young blonde, watching her disappear into the restroom. For all of two seconds, Roy hesitated and then followed, cracking the door slightly and peering in before quickly entering the room.

"Why didn't you say you weren't feeling well?!"

Kneeling on the tile floor was not the most comfortable position, and Riza irritably waved a hand in Roy's general direction to dismiss him as her stomach heaved. Gingerly, he scooped up her hair, holding it off of her shoulders and free from her face.

"Gracia—told me—that—" Roy cringed each time, trying to tune out the noises where Riza paused, "—being nauseous—is normal." Pausing only to gasp for air, she was trying to shoo Roy away again, her other hand braced for balance against the floor.

For a good ten minutes, she remained as still as she possibly could spare when she leaned over to empty her stomach. Roy stood behind her, nervously close and gentle, offering her a hand up and a mint when her stomach settled. Riza's pale cheeks were flushed crimson as she murmured her thanks. Doctor Ballard was waiting outside and wordlessly lead them down the hall to the last exam room. Inside, she pulled out a chair for Roy and helped Riza situate herself on the small exam cot.

"I hear you've had a rough time of things," Ballard offered slowly. "I don't want to concern you but circumstantially that puts you at high risk for several complications." The doctor frowned, seeing her patient shudder slightly at the comment. "But don't you worry about a thing, darling. We're going to take real good care of you."

* * *

Riza left the appointment clearly bothered. Doctor Ballard chose to side with Roy, agreeing that she shouldn't work too much due to the uncanny and unhealthy conception. Furthermore, Ballard argued that working as a bodyguard and personal aide to a State Alchemist in the military posed certain health risks for both mother and child. Despite protests from the blonde sharpshooter, both her doctor's and commanding officer's orders left her off any sort of field duty until after the birth of the child. Ballard conceded on allowing her to continue working in the office _only_ three days a week with shortened hours. 

Irritated might have been the best way to describe Riza's mood when she arrived at the Hughes' door around 1200 hours.

"Oh! Hello Riza, what are you doing here? Maes told me that you were told to stay in bed. Has that changed?" Gracia smiled, and little Elysia popped her head out the door, green eyes widening in surprise.

"Auntie Riza!" Pushing her way past her mother, the girl reached out and hugged Riza's knees. Irritated mood dissipating immediately at the sight of the pig-tailed three-year-old, Riza crouched down and scooped up the child. "Hello sweetheart."

"Put her _down_, Riza, you shouldn't be toting around a three-year-old!" Gracia grumbled.

Riza smiled slightly, "It's all right Gracia. How are you?"

"I'm good! Mommy tolded me that you got sick! Do you feel betters now? I has somethin' for you!" Elysia scrambled and tugged and fidgeted her way out of Riza's grip and then disappeared into the house. She returned a few moments later with a piece of yellow construction paper folded in the shape of a card. There was a large red heart colored in red on the front of the card, along with what could easily be an entire box of macaroni glued to the front. "I maded you a feel better card!" Beaming, Elysia offered the card upwards.

Riza quietly considered the card, looking it over. She was careful when opening it because Heaven forbid she disturb the macaroni. Amber eyes flitted over the scrawled writing that looked more like practiced scribbles—_Auntie Riza, feel betters! Love lots Elysia_—and she couldn't help but smile. "Thank you."

Gracia looked between the two, inherently picking up on the discomfort, and then stepped aside. "Don't stand outside, you'll catch your death of a cold." Elysia immediately did as her mother told, and Riza hesitated. "Come on, in, _in_ you go—" the mother was not hesitant to grab Riza's arm and pull her into the house.

In the sitting room, Elysia went on and on about her little three-year-old life while her mother prepared tea. As only a child so young could do, Elysia shortly grew tired of explaining her life and instead chose to crawl into Riza's lap, propping her head against the woman's knee and rubbing her eyes. She was getting sleepy, she explained.

"I heard Mommy and Daddy says that yous are gonna have a baby." Thankfully, the girl was oblivious to the tension of her human pillow. "Is Uncle Roy gonna be the baby's daddy, like Daddy is my daddy?"

Riza immediately glanced towards the kitchen, desperate for Gracia to return. "No," she mumbled slowly. "I'm not going to take care of the baby myself. I can't. And Uncle Roy is not and will not be the baby's father."

Elysia yawned, turning her head. "Oh." She resituated herself so her forehead was pressed against Riza's stomach, small fingers entwined in the fabric of the woman's sweater. "You and Uncle Roy would be a good mommy and daddy I thinks…"

Absently, she chose to disregard this statement, running her fingers through Elysia's hair. The child's green eyes slowly, _slowly_ drooped closed, her breathing slowing, finally falling to sleep. Quietly, Gracia returned, two cups of tea at hand. She set them on the table, smiling tiredly at the two. "I'm sorry about that…Elysia usually has her nap around now anyway. I'll bring her upstairs."

Carefully Gracia disentangled her daughter from Riza's lap and propped the little head against her shoulder. When the child stirred, Gracia soothed her quietly, starting up the stairs. For five minutes, Riza sat alone, looking at the cup of tea, watching the steam rise. Something hurt but it wasn't the physical sort of thing; Elysia had managed to grab her still-healing fingers and bury her little head directly into the few broken ribs she had, but they weren't what caused the pain.

"Are you all right?"

Snapped from her reverie, Riza looked up, startled. "Hm?"

Gracia slowly sank into the seat beside her. "Are you all right? You looked a bit distracted. Did Elysia hurt you by lying on your lap?"

"No, not at all," Riza replied quietly, hands folded in her lap just slightly. "Just thinking, that's all."

"What about?" Gracia leaned forwards, grabbing her own cup of tea and forcing the one she had made for Riza into the other woman's hands—"you should drink that, it will help your stomach." Riza's look of confusion only made her laugh, "what? Do you think I couldn't tell? I sat just as still as that when my stomach hurt. Just drink the tea."

Smiling wearily, Riza took a slow sip of the tea. "Thanks."

For a short while, Gracia allowed Riza to enjoy the quiet, watching the shorter blonde slowly loosen up, the tension dissipating. The look of discomfort also began to vanish from the sharpshooter's features, and Gracia inwardly smiled, pleased with this result.

"What's on your mind?" leaning back in the seat, Gracia placed her teacup on the table, folding her arms.

Riza visibly hesitated, quickly placing her cup on the table as well, her gaze flitting to the stairs, the table, the cups and the floor before finally resting on the fringe of one of the pillows on the couch. "Elysia asked if Roy and I were going to take care of the baby like you and Maes take care of her."

"Oh, Riza, I'm sorry…I don't know how she found out. We never told her—"

"She said she heard you talking about it. I told her that we were not going to, and that Roy is not the baby's 'daddy' like Maes is hers." The blonde folded her hands tightly in her lap, gaze again fixated on the floor. "I don't suppose Maes has told you this but I'm going to put the child up for adoption."

Gracia visibly hesitated, uncertain. Her eyes flitted across the room, moving towards the stairs and possibly tracing the steps she had just taken with her daughter in her arms. "No, he hadn't."

Riza's jaw tightened at the look of misunderstanding on Gracia's face, clenching her right fist. "I couldn't look at their faces again, Gracia," she finally mumbled, amber eyes softening. "I couldn't live with seeing one of them every day for the rest of my life. The child being my flesh alone could never separate the ties that they would have to…_them_."

The silence was deafening, pulsating as Gracia processed the explanation she had been given. She fingered her teacup, allowing herself time to grasp what her friend had said. In retrospect, she knew that her surprised reaction had been far from the appropriate response—now easily recognized by the disconcerted look on the blonde's face.

Hesitantly, she placed a hand on Riza's knee atop the tightened fist. Her voice wavered slightly, feeling liquid fill in at the creases of her eyes, threatening to spill. "It's the right thing," she said slowly, squeezing the woman's hand gently, "it's your decision, and you're right. No matter how much that child is yours, they will always be theirs too…" The brunette hesitated, swallowing nervously. "I just always wanted to be able to congratulate you for when you became pregnant, Maes as well. I suppose that's partially because the both of us always assumed that the father _would_ be Roy."

* * *

"You're angry about the doctor's orders." That evening, Riza was cooking dinner in Roy's kitchen—she had at least insisted upon helping as much as she could since Roy had wanted her in his sight as often as possible.

"No," she murmured softly. "More your intervention." She shuffled about the small kitchen with ease, having been preparing dinner there for weeks, more often than not lighter dishes that were easier on her stomach. Roy didn't mind; he was happy with the nicely prepared dinners that he was not accustomed to having.

Roy winced, seeing her heading for the cabinet and quickly grabbing the colander for her. "I suppose that you'll be displeased with the fact that she telephoned me at the office this afternoon while you went to the Hughes'."

From his vantage point, he saw her tense, her fingers tightening around the pot of pasta she was holding. Her uncomfortable stance bothered him; carefully he crossed over to her to her, resting a hand against her shoulder. He winced when he felt her muscles tighten beneath his palm. "You still don't want to be touched," he remarked quietly, frowning. "You know that you're safe here…I won't hurt you."

"I know," she replied, her gaze darkening as the pot of water boiled as she stirred. "I know that. The reaction is just so instinctive now," the tired woman swallowed, closing her eyes. "What did Doctor Ballard want you for?"

Roy swallowed. "She wanted to know where you were currently staying. I explained the situation and she decided that you can't stay alone."

"_She_ decided this, or you?" Riza asked sternly, frowning.

"Well, she suggested that this was the ideal situation. Strongly suggested, at that." He uncomfortably looked to the floor, turning her so her features were visible. "I don't want you where I can't see you."

The phrase sounded oddly possessive. Riza seemed taken aback by this and shifted her eyes to the far wall. Instinctively Roy gripped her tighter heart racing. Both hands held her shoulders. "Riza, look at me."

The woman was hesitant to oblige and instead closed her amber eyes. Infuriated, he shook her shoulders slightly, the jarring motion causing the spoon in her left hand to clatter unceremoniously to the floor. "Roy, don't—"

"I have to be able to see that you're safe," he murmured, the fact admitted so abjectly that he almost seemed ashamed of it. "Everything that's happened in the past few months—I need to see you to be certain. Please, Riza. Humor me. Just allow me that." The desperation in his hands was no less evident when he released her shoulders, hands now resting protectively around her waist.

"Roy…"

Pale hands were trembling as she gingerly rested them atop his, the panic vanishing from her amber eyes. The response did little to appease him, and he only tightened his fingers slightly, solidifying his point.

"Trust me. You always have." Roy kept his hands safely against her waist, finally managing to meet her gaze. "Allow me a moment of frailty?"

She hesitated before submitting with a small nod.

"Riza—when you were missing, I was worried. That you might have already been killed and abandoned at the roadside, that I hadn't done everything I could for you. I want to redeem myself. Finding you the way I did was painful. You have to recognize that you are more than just a subordinate to me—you are a very dear friend. I can't lose you…"

Her voice was small when she finally conjured up a response. "I know that I am…you must know that the reverse is true as well but Roy—"

Partway through the sentence, she was silenced when his lips crushed into hers, desperate and passionate. His fingers found their way into her hair, and he could feel weight growing on his chest as she leaned against him. Slowly, he separated himself from her, obsidian eyes tinged with a mixture of concern and pleasure; longing and fear. To his surprise, she slid her head against his shoulder, her breath tickling along his jaw-line as his arms encircled her back, feeling the slight hiccupping of her chest as she cried.

"It's all right," he murmured, nose tilted into the cornflower yellow tresses. "I'm here."

* * *

Author's Notes: Sorry it took me so long to get this chapter up; expect them to slow down a bit because school just started and I'm a little stressed with all that. 


	9. Chapter 9

Author's Notes: (1) I don't own FMA! I haven't said that earlier, but really. I don't. That hasn't changed. (2) Someone asked in a review where this fic was set, time-wise. Ideally, it would be early manga-verse, however that really doesn't work. In the end, I suppose it's somewhat AU just becuase it couldn't possibly fit into the timeframe that Arakawa gives us. I wanted the characters at the places I wanted, so I tweaked manga timing so I could have what I wanted. Yes, childish, but it makes for such a better fic. Thanks for your reviews, guys!!

This is definately a short chapter--two scenes. Bear with me, I'll get another chapter up in a day or so. I'm running out, we're starting to catch up to what I've written!!

* * *

After the very physical encounter that night, Riza no longer seemed unsure of allowing or accepting Roy's help. Furthermore, she even found herself relying upon the concern and comfort he was so prepared to offer. This was why she did not hesitate to ask him to please attend the meeting with an adoption counselor one rainy afternoon.

The counselor was a heavyset middle-aged woman, tired creases in her face and genuine interest in her eyes. Patricia—Patty, she asked to be called—wanted to help.

The afternoon of the appointment was accompanied by pages of files that the office needed Riza to fill out. Questions pertaining to the expected due-date and the length of time she knew she was pregnant were easy. Questions asking why she wanted to put the child up for adoption were a bit more complicated.

"Good afternoon, Miss Hawkeye—I'm presuming that this gentleman here is Mister Mustang?"

The two nodded.

"Very well. Now I've reviewed your files and I read that you want some involvement in the child's life?"

Riza's hands tightened into fists. "I know it's odd, but I feel a responsibility to the child and I know I have no reason to want involvement in the life of a child I've chosen to abandon but—"

"Adoption is _very_ different from abandoning your child, Miss Hawkeye. Don't you allow yourself to think like that!" Riza visibly sank into her chair just slightly, nodding. "And quite a few parents want to maintain involvement in the life of their biological children. It's quite reasonable; even natural. Furthermore, many adoptive parents appreciate the connection—some of the families even grow close." Patty looked over the folders on her desk, blue eyes narrowing slightly as she thought. "I know of a few couples who are looking to adopt, a handful of which agree to an open adoption where you can keep in touch with the child. If you would like I can initiate correspondence with them, that way you are capable of making an informed decision."

Riza looked to Roy, clearly thinking. Her hands were still folded tightly in her lap. To Roy, it was obvious that she was uncomfortable; the front of complete composure did not deceive him—her brows were furrowed just slightly, gaze pointedly focused on the corner of the desk. "I will decide who will take the child in?" The blonde paused, hesitating. "I didn't realize that was a decision I made."

Patty tilted her head slightly, very much resembling Black Hayate when he was confused. "Oh. I always like to give the parents the option. On occasion, people don't want to shoulder that burden. Other times, the parents want to be very much involved. Since you made a mention that you wanted to keep in touch with the family I assumed that—"

"That's all right." Roy quickly eased his hand atop Riza's, still recognizing the signs of uncertainty on her features however muddled and muted they might be. "I do want to take part in making that final decision. If…you might initiate contact with those potential parents I would greatly appreciate it."

* * *

Roy was surprised when the telephone rang at such an odd hour that evening, as he was doing the dishes after dinner. It was already dark, and Riza wasn't feeling well and though she had insisted upon helping clean up Roy sent her off to her room to rest. In retrospect, it seemed surprisingly comfortable, sending Riza off to _her_ room in _his_ apartment. He shook the thought from his mind as he answered the telephone. 

"Colonel Mustang—who's calling?" After years in military service he was well aware that he would get odd-hour telephone calls from a superior officer about some emergency which required his immediate attention. 'Hey, what's up?' no longer sufficed.

"Oh," it was a woman on the other side of the line, and she hesitated. "I think I may have the wrong telephone number. I was looking for Miss Hawkeye."

He awkwardly glanced around the kitchen. "May I ask who is calling and why you are looking for her?"

The woman coughed. "I was under the impression that the matter I was calling Miss Hawkeye for was personal. Have I reached the correct residence?" Roy could hear the impatience in her voice; the slight uncertainty as well.

"Yes. You have."

"Then I would like to speak to Miss Hawkeye unless she is currently unavailable," the woman snapped, voice frigid.

"She wasn't feeling well," Roy returned, eyes narrowing defensively. "I'll ask her but I doubt she'll be up for a conversation."

To his surprise, Riza was not only willing to answer to whomever was calling, but kindly requested that he wait in the other room so as not to overhear the conversation. It was almost an insult but when he saw the look on her face as she answered the call, he couldn't help but comply with her request. When she did finally come to find him—reading in the sitting room by then though he kept glancing up and down the hall, waiting for her—he jumped to attention. She was a bit blanched, hands stuffed deep into her pockets.

"Who was on the telephone?"

Riza hardly looked at him as she stepped to continue down the hall. "A woman interested in adopting my child."


	10. Chapter 10

Four and a half months had past, and though Riza had been doing an outstanding job of hiding the fact in the office, it was becoming more and more obvious to the passerby that she was pregnant. By the time three months had past, Roy could see the slight swelling of her stomach when she was out of uniform. By the time that third month was a quarter of the way through, she had gone and requested a larger uniform—almost oversized, actually—to try and hide the growing bulge. But by that current date, her stomach had swollen to a point that it was not easily hidden. Even the larger jacket and pants could not hide her current condition.

So she came into the office one day in an oversized button-down shirt (quite similar to Roy's shirt, actually—Breda, Havoc and Falman were betting on whether it was his or not) with her jacket unbuttoned over the front. This immediately caught the attention of the men in the office, all of whom were quite used to her insistence on wearing her uniform properly, not to mention her very habitual nature.

"Lieutenant Hawkeye?"

Fuery drew the short stick and had been forced to try and find a way to question her sudden change in uniform. The blonde looked up quickly from her work, gaze slightly distant as she put the file she was working on down. "Yes, Sergeant?"

"I was just wondering if everything was all right," the young man said, fumbling with the pen he was holding and looking nervously to the floor. "You…you're usually very strict with uniform protocol." Hawkeye couldn't help but smile tiredly at the boy; he tried so hard to be polite and as a result was often put up to questioning like this.

The small smile vanished when she saw that all eyes in the office were on her. More pointedly, all eyes in the office were on her stomach. With a bit of a huff, she sank into her desk chair, gaze dark. "I had no other choice. Please ask no further questions, Sergeant."

Fuery hesitantly looked to the other men, trying to get a hint at what to do next. Havoc nodded slightly, blue eyes sparkling with what could be called mischief if the man was fifteen years younger. "You know you don't need to try and hide the fact that you're pregnant, you know."

Hawkeye cringed and Fuery ducked his head down to focus on the work he was not completing. Even Breda stuck his head dutifully into his book to avoid listening to Havoc's comment and the shouting match that he was certain would start soon. "Perhaps this does not hold true for you, but in this day and age a woman pregnant outside of wedlock is heartily frowned upon—not to even touch upon my profession."

Havoc smiled, stuffing his hands into his pocket. "I happen to think pregnant women are very attractive."

"Lieutenant Havoc, get back to work!" Mustang's voice boomed over the chattering that began when Havoc chose to open his mouth once again. "You cannot possibly be so dense to make a move on a coworker not to _mention_ that she is your superior officer!"

"You're one to talk about that, sir," Havoc grumbled, glowering as he sank back into his seat. "I wasn't making a move on her—I happen to have noticed that, when gaining weight, pregnant women start to think they aren't attractive anymore. I don't think it's true and you can tell that the Lieutenant is thinking that by the look on her face."

Hawkeye snapped up from her work, "I am sitting directly across from you, Second Lieutenant Havoc, and thusly can clearly hear all of your conversation." The blond Second Lieutenant shuddered. Hawkeye was consistent with using honorifics and titles but she rarely used a full title. She did, however, use full titles when angry—or bothered.

"That is enough," Mustang grumbled, "get back to work, Havoc. I don't want to hear another word from you."

For a few moments, it was quiet in the office, the only sounds scribbling pens as various documents were signed and filed away. Finally, "well, you could wear civilian clothing. It has to be more comfortable than uniform pants several sizes too large and a men's dress shirt."

* * *

Author's Notes: This is a short, short chapter. For which I apologize. This one just fell into place like this; the next two chapters (not including this one) originally were one chapter that I cut into pieces becuase it was too much at once. I had to keep this one short. Sorry! 


	11. Chapter 11

Things were quiet in the office that particular evening. Lieutenant Hawkeye had realized that by five months she had no choice but to surrender to the fact that military uniforms simply were no made for pregnant women. Her choice had been to either wear one several sizes too large or simply come to work in civilian clothing. In what Havoc called a stroke of genius—behind her back, of course—she chose the second option; it seemed the most practical.

The muted scribbling of pens prevailed in the office until Second Lieutenant Breda burst back into the room, dripping with sweat and thoroughly out of breath. For a moment the redhead struggled to catch enough air to speak, and finally, "Colonel Mustang—rebels outside, just a few blocks away—tried to blow up an apartment complex. They need help on the field."

Scrambling was evident as each officer got to their feet, shuffling through desks and grabbing ammunition, protection and whatever else would be necessary in the field. Havoc was thoroughly and properly armed with a sniper rifle and two pistols not to mention quite a bit of spare ammo; Breda had produced several push knives from a drawer somewhere; Fuery had gathered all of his communications equipment and Falman was starting to slip on his jacket when Mustang crossed to Hawkeye's desk.

"Where do you think you are going?"

Hawkeye was reaching for an extra magazine for her gun when Mustang stopped in front of her, his dark gaze powerful and inquisitive. "You can't possibly intend to head out to the field." The words were quick; urgent. They even bordered on panicked, and Mustang was slowly shifting to block her path so to make it impossible for her to leave.

"Well I'm not letting you out into the field without—"

The sharpshooter barely managed to finish her sentence before Mustang gruffly gripped her shoulders with surprising strength, starting to push her downwards. "Lieutenant Hawkeye, your condition does not permit such action, not even mentioning that you are officially off of active duty at this time."

Fuery, Falman and Breda inched towards the door; Havoc hesitated, curious to see what was coming next.

"If you failed to notice, you are not off active duty, _sir_, nor do you have another person prepared or capable of acting as your aide and guard." Hawkeye's voice was cold enough to sting, the tone surprisingly even as she was going against all of the military protocol she was so keen to uphold.

Mustang glowered, releasing her shoulders and taking half a step away from her. "Pregnant women are not designed for combat!" The words toppled from his mouth faster than he could contemplate them, and Hawkeye also took an irritated step back from him, glaring daggers towards him.

Her gaze immediately shifted to the window, and she nudged his head in the proper direction. "Flame Alchemists are not designed to fight in rainy weather!" True to her nature, the sky was a menacing deep gray, rain threatening to spill at any moment.

"There's plenty of hydrogen and oxygen to use in that rainwater, I'll have you know; have you so little faith in me that you think I did not consider that?!" Mustang sounded particularly offended. Rain was not going to dampen his ability to defend himself. "You are _not_ going out into the field! It's an order!"

"And be responsible if harm should befall you? That is out of the question. I have made my decision." Hawkeye continued to slip the magazine into her coat pocket, stopping only when Mustang reached and snatched the item from her hands.

"No. We can't be responsible for protecting ourselves, you and your unborn child! You'll only become a hindrance."

Hawkeye recoiled as though he had physically struck her, the determined glare on her features replaced with hurt. He opened his mouth to apologize, but she was already pulling weapons from hidden pockets and slamming them onto her desk, face contorted into a powerful grimace. "Take the guns, at least," she murmured, voice sorely lacking in power.

"Riza, wait, I didn't mean that like you've just taken it—"

"You are right, Colonel. Take the guns just as a precaution." She was slowly sifting through the desk, pointedly avoiding his gaze.

"Riza," Mustang said hesitantly, catching her wrist as she moved to hand her final gun to him. "I'm sorry. I don't want you to get hurt. Please go home; I'll see to it that Hughes drops by to make sure you get there safe." Releasing her hand, he rushed to the door—the rest of his team had left already, a fact for which he was grateful. They did not need to hear what he had just said.

"Just stay safe," he murmured finally as he closed the office door behind him.

* * *

It had started to rain by the time Maes Hughes made his way into the office to walk Riza home. Roy had run into him just a before leaving, and told him to make sure that she did, at the very least, remain in the office. As he cracked the door, he could see her shadow darting back and forth across the small room; her shoes clicked quietly on the floor as she paced. 

"Riza?" Maes quietly closed the door behind him as he walked over to her, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "It's getting late. You should go home. I'll walk you, if you'd like."

The blonde shook her head, instead continuing to walk back and forth, every now and again peering towards the window. "It's pouring out," she mumbled, arms crossed tightly in front of her. "It has been for nearly two and a half hours."

Maes shifted his weight, stepping into her path—it was difficult to follow her movement as she went back and forth as she currently was. "He can take care of himself, you know. He's going to be fine—but I won't be if I don't get you home soon, and in one piece."

Riza looked around the office, letting out a soft sigh. "I think I will wait for him to return here," she said softly, stepping around Maes and continuing her nervous movement.

Frustrated, he caught her arm and tried to stop her. "You'll make yourself sick walking around like that. You'll get yourself all dizzy and—"

She had stiffened suddenly in his grip, amber eyes widening just slightly. For a moment, she stood still before leaning forwards slightly, a hand resting on her stomach, the other hand shakily reaching for something to lean against and finding his shoulder.

"Hey, Riza? Are you okay?"

After an agonizingly long minute, she straightened herself up and closed her eyes, letting out a nervous breath. "I'm all right," she whispered, voice shaking just slightly.

"I don't know... You're very pale," Maes shifted so he could clearly see her face, catching the tinge of green on her features. "You should lie down for a bit." He gave her no chance to protest as he half guided and half shoved her over to the couch, easing her off of her feet. Within another half a moment, he had found a blanket and set it on her lap, as well as a wastepaper basket.

Maes barely had the time to hand the small pail over before she started heaving, emptying the contents of her stomach quite thoroughly into the basket. Her hands were trembling slightly as she held the basket, coughing uncomfortably as she caught her breath.

"You're not all right," the man said sternly, not hesitating to swipe a few strands of hair from her face, forehead now slightly sticky with sweat. Maes looked around the room, finding another blanket for her. "I'll call Gracia and get the number of our doctor—unless you have your doctor's number here?"

Riza nodded slowly, starting to get to her feet before Maes pushed her back to her half-sitting position. She pointed to her desk, "Doctor B…Ballard," she stammered, again pressing a hand hard against her abdomen. She had felt fine just a few moments ago.

"I'm going to use the phone from my office; the rain knocked the telephone lines in here out. I'll be right back, but I don't want you to go anywhere."

For ten minutes, she waited as patiently as she could as her stomach retched and heaved and her abdomen hurt so badly she nearly doubled over in pain. She was trying desperately to stay still, but discomfort brought her to her feet.

She paced around the room, desperately wishing for Roy or Maes or _anyone_ to return; instinct was screaming that something about what she was feeling at the moment was not right. Something was telling her that she and the baby were in danger. Knowing that the telephone lines in her office were down and that she was too uneven on her feet to make it down the hall, she was fully aware of the fact that she would have to wait for help—and panic was starting to set in.

"Riza!"

She froze, turning. Roy was standing in the doorway, drenched, dripping, and at the moment clearly disoriented. His dark eyes tried to adjust to the light in the room, currently only able to make out the woman's form across the room. He stripped his jacket off at the door, trying to make movement easier. When he could finally see, he crossed to her in two brisk steps, brows furrowed. "You're bleeding. What happened? Are you hurt?"

The blonde looked absently at him, dizzy. For a moment, her eyes locked on his, and then she peered down, realizing that she was, in fact, bleeding. Not just a small amount, either—but quite a bit. Her stomach lurched, and she stumbled to the garbage pail that had recently become the receptacle for each meal she had eaten earlier in the day.

Roy crouched beside her, grabbing her shoulders gently and easing her back to her feet. "Where's Maes?"

She rested her hands against his shoulders for balance, vision fading slightly at the edges. "Calling doctor…" Her voice was weak and slightly uneven. Roy had moved to grab her coat when Maes burst back into the office, frowning.

"Doctor Ballard's receptionist said to go straight to the hospital because they said that bleeding could start at any—"

Riza was leaning uncomfortably against Roy's shoulder, hand still pressed against her stomach, the frown on her face deepening at Maes' state of concern.

"At any moment…and that it could be fatal to mother and child."

* * *

Author's Notes: I don't know if a cliffhanger makes up for a short chapter, but that's what you get. Sorry guys! I'll be posting a bit quicker as soon as I finish (I'm about '1 month' away from the end, since I'm not certain how many scenes that will be). I want to get this posted completely before I'm really, really caught up in school.

Still dont' own FMA...alas.


	12. Chapter 12

Roy and Riza immediately made their way to the hospital as Doctor Ballard ordered; Maes drove them and then returned to Gracia to inform her of the situation. The two barely managed to stumble into the emergency room before being escorted into an exam room. She grabbed a bucket upon entering the room, heaving hard though she brought nothing up. Riza ran a hand over her stomach and front, feeling the stickiness of blood—this intensified her shaking to a point where Roy was nervously trying to hold her steady. Hardly five minutes later, Doctor Ballard herself came bursting into the room, out of breath and clearly flushed from running.

Ballard immediately tugged on her stethoscope, resting the cool metal on Riza's chest to listen to the blonde's heartbeat. "Riza, dear, I need you to calm down and listen to me. Can you do that?" Another moment past and Doctor Bethune came into the room, frowning. He was trying to shoo Roy away from Riza's bedside.

"Miss Hawkeye, can you look at me?" Doctor Bethune tilted his head into her line of vision and the two locked eyes. As soon as he had established this contact, he rested his palm against her forehead, feeling that it was cool and clammy. "She's showing some signs of shock. Mustang, did she show any other signs like this?"

The blonde was weakly reaching for Roy's hand, her slightly smaller hand trembling uncontrollably. She winced and leaned forwards, bringing her knees as close to her chest as she could. "What…what's _wrong_? Is the baby going to be okay?" Roy's grip on Riza's hand tightened when he saw that she was crying.

"You listen to me, Riza—panicking is not going to help. You need to calm down." Doctor Ballard smoothed some yellow hair from her face, clicking her tongue. "You—Roy. How much blood has she lost?"

Roy shifted his weight from one foot to the other, analyzing the question. "I've seen worse. What you see," he added, cringing at the large stain on her skirt, eyes moving down her left leg with a small trickle of blood, "is exactly how much." Riza watched this exchange with a glazed look of concern on her features.

"Doctor Bethune," Riza murmured, "nobody's said if the baby is okay…but..." she scrubbed her hand over her eyes, now almost sobbing. "Nobody will say anything!"

Bethune glanced to Doctor Ballard and Roy who were quite engaged in quick and slightly panicked dialogue before trying a small smile at Riza. "Doctor Ballard told you, it's going to be all right. But I have to agree that you're too upset for us to help you. We really do need you to calm down and take a few deep breaths because I want to run some proper tests and I certainly can't do that while you're like this." Bethune tugged on the other doctor's arm, getting her attention. "I could use your help—check the fetal heart rate."

While Doctors Ballard and Bethune poked, prodded and ran tests, Roy stood close to Riza's head, stroking her hair. "You'll be okay, you know," he mumbled, sounding awfully unsure of himself for someone who was trying to console a very pregnant and very distressed woman.

Riza sniffled. "The baby too?"

Hesitantly, he nodded. "Yeah, the baby too."

* * *

Twenty-four hours later, test results were finally returning and it seemed that the worst was over. The bleeding had stopped around three o'clock in the morning, a development that soothed Riza's frazzled nerves to a point where she could fall to sleep. Roy had chosen to spend the night with her despite her telling him to go home and get rest. Doctor Ballard came into the hospital room on tiptoe, her smile just slight when she saw that her patient was still asleep.

"She gave us quite a scare last night," the friendly old doctor whispered, lowering the charts she was holding just slightly. "I'm glad she's still resting. She needs it. You did the right thing by her, you know, bringing her straight here."

Roy smiled tiredly. "I owed it to her—she was angry with me. Besides, I can't take any credit for knowing to bring her here. My friend Maes was the one to call your office and he's the one who relayed the message that we had to come here immediately."

Ballard sighed. "How_ever_ you knew to get her here doesn't matter—you did. Had you wasted any amount of time she probably would have lost the baby…and after everything she's been through I'm just glad it didn't come to that."

"So the baby is okay?"

She nodded slowly. "Yes. We were lucky; the baby was in about as much distress as their mother. Said distress has since been alleviated—not to mention that we think Miss Hawkeye is going to be the proud mother of a particularly healthy looking baby." Doctor Ballard smiled at Riza, who remained asleep, clearly unperturbed by the conversation. "She's doing a good job by that child. What was she mad with you for?"

The question was thrown in so nonchalantly that Roy cringed. "Oh…that small rebel attack a couple of blocks away from Central Headquarters. My team got called to the scene. She's been my aide and guard for years so she was furious when I told her she couldn't come." He sighed, replaying the image of Riza snapping away from him as though he had struck her when he told her she would be a hindrance. "I said some extremely unintelligent things."

The older woman sighed, leaning forwards. "Well she knows she's to stay off of the field. That you tried to keep her off can't surprise her."

He shrugged. "You can't think something like that would keep her from at least trying, do you?" Roy could feel the smirk growing on his features, the thought of a submissive Riza amusing at the very least. "I think she wouldn't have allowed herself to not at least make an attempt."

"I suppose not. I should know her better by now." Sinking into a chair, Ballard tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear with a hearty sigh. "She won't be happy with me when I tell her that the best way to proceed from here is staying in bed until she's full term."

Roy cringed. "No, I don't think she'll be happy about that at all."

* * *

Author's Notes: Thus ends cliffie! I think someone asked me this before and I can't remember if I answered. This is mangaverse, and technically it's AU because it doesn't fit into the original FMA timeline. So though it's totally set in Amestris with the military etc and I would say that if it did happen in the manga it'd be earlyish manga, it really can't because...it doesn't fit timewise. Not that this information is crucial to understanding the story.

I don't own FMA. Still. Very sad about that, alas.

Reply to anonymousninja: Go medical profession majors! I did my research for this one. It's a placental abruption, but a relatively mild one--not the most severe, where they have to deliver the baby straightaway. I would have sworn on my life that I read somewhere that nausea could be a result of that...let's say she hurt so bad her stomach got angry sigh. She's about 5 and a half months, maybe 6. Ish. But she's built small (very thin and muscular, do you know what I mean?), and my research did say that if you are thinner and smaller and it's your first pregnancy then you can show a bit earlier. But 5 and a half months seemed like the optimal place to put this. You don't really need a list of all my sourcing etc, but I just wanted to share that becuase I did do my research. In the next chapter Roy calls this her 'placental whatever-its-called' or something of that nature.


	13. Chapter 13

"Well, this is where you'll sleep. My room is just across the hall and Elysia is down the hall just a few steps. Riza, she's so excited to have someone new to play with all the time now. I tried to explain to her that you're staying here because you're sick but you know how it is; she's three." Gracia beamed as she fluffed the pillows and tried to get Riza to get into bed. "Don't be so difficult, you aren't supposed to be on your feet."

"Gracia, I appreciate all this but it really isn't necessary." The blonde sharpshooter shuffled along as slowly as her sanity would permit—the doctor permitted walking only when necessary and only very slowly.

Gracia ignored the protest and strongly nudged Riza down into the bed. That done, she started sorting through the bag that Riza had brought, using her free hand to silence the woman whom she was certain would start protesting again soon. "Don't even open your mouth. Do you honestly think I'd leave you to stay at Roy's apartment? He's out all day at work—nobody will be there to make sure you stay in bed."

"Who said I wasn't going to stay in bed?" Immediately, Riza was on the defense. She crossed her arms over her chest and frowned. "I have every intention of following the doctor's orders. After what happened the other day, I wouldn't dare disobey."

The brunette could feel herself cringing slightly at the defensive tone of voice—Riza sounded far less like agreeing to stay in bed because the doctor told her to and far more like she was agreeing to stay in bed because for the child's safety. "Look," Gracia said gently, taking a seat next to her. "The doctor told you that what happened isn't your fault. Right?"

Riza nodded slowly. "Yes. But Gracia, I was so angry right before it happened…the stress, and yelling—that could have contributed to it and—"

"Placental abruption is a random event. There's no preventing it; it just _happens_." Gracia sighed, placing a hand on top of Riza's. "The baby is all right and you know what to watch for, what to pay attention to and what to do. You're as prepared as you can be, and you're trying your hardest. No matter how things end up you can always rest assured that you've done well by this child."

"Doing _well_ does not mean anything, Gracia. Doing well by a child only means that I haven't killed them yet—but I've gotten pretty damned close!" Riza pulled hair from her face, amber eyes focused pointedly on the floor, folding her hands tightly in her lap.

Gracia sighed heavily, just slightly squeezing the blonde's hand. "I'm going to get you a cup of tea…do you want anything to eat?"

Downstairs and by the front door, Maes was trying to get a bothered Roy to either enter the building or exit: at the very least, he would like the raven-haired man out of his doorway. "If you're that worried about not being able to watch her—which, by the way, is just a _little_ strange coming from you, Roy—then you can stay here. Riza's got the spare bedroom, and I'd offer it to you but she has been ordered to _bed _rest, not _couch_ rest so you'd have to be a proper gentleman and allow her to have the bed."

Roy grumbled, slipping his hands into his pockets. "I just want to do whatever I can to help her. She's already miserable. She thinks that placental whatever-it-was-called is her fault even after the doctor's told her it's pretty much a random event and that nothing can prompt it or cause it. I just wish she'd allow herself to accept that."

Maes shrugged slightly, carefully nudging his friend in the door without making it obvious as he then closed and locked the door behind him. "Why don't you stay at least tonight? Just for your sanity's sake."

* * *

"The Colonel has been irritable," Breda grumbled crossly one morning. It had been an even two weeks since Hawkeye officially left the office on a decidedly early maternity leave. Unluckily for him, _he_ had been the first to arrive the morning after the escapade and his reaction could be described as panicked. Now that Breda knew, specifically, what was going on, he just worried. 

"Well he's sleeping on the Hughes' couch last I checked," Havoc replied, chewing on his cigarette. "He came in that first morning grumbling about said couch was very uncomfortable."

Fuery peered up from the files he was sorting—it was one of the jobs he had taken over for Hawkeye in her absence. "Mrs. Hughes insisted that Lieutenant Hawkeye stayed with her. Then I heard Colonel Mustang and Lieutenant Colonel Hughes talking about how Colonel Mustang was staying there. I think that he wanted to keep an eye on her himself."

"I'm not surprised. Have any of you even heard from Hawkeye? The Chief won't say anything on the matter and it's just strange not seeing her at least once a week." Havoc sighed, sinking into his chair. "We worry about her too."

"We know where she is—we could go visit during lunch," Falman put down the files he was holding and crossed his arms. "There is nothing against visiting a coworker and friend when they are ill."

"We can't just show up!" Fuery protested, though he was obviously interested in the idea. "Maybe we could bring something for her?"

"Great! You take care of that, Fuery, and we'll go check up on her this afternoon."

* * *

A group of four military officers in uniform standing at the front door of a Central home was not unheard of. However, the smallest of the four officers was gingerly cradling a bouquet of flowers, his nose wrinkled as one of the others knocked on the door. 

"Can't someone hold these?" Fuery pleaded, turning his head to avoid the blooms. "I'm allergic to them." To solidify his point, he sneezed, sending a few petals flying and knocking his glasses askew. "_Please_."

"You're the one who got flowers!" Havoc replied, "why would you pick flowers that you're allergic to?"

Shuffling his feet, Fuery sighed. "I think she likes lilies. Somebody sends two lilies to her every Valentine's day and she always tries to keep them as long as she can so I thought she'd like them…"

Falman shot a pointed glare at Havoc and took the flowers from Fuery, who, now capable of breathing, took a deep breath. "That's very thoughtful of you. I'm certain she will like them."

Finally, the door opened and Gracia greeted them, tilting her head, obviously somewhat confused as to why four-fifths of Hawkeye's office was at her front door. "Oh, hello everyone….is everything all right?"

Breda nodded. "Yes ma'am. We just came by to see how Lieutenant Hawkeye was feeling." The stout man nodded slightly.

"We brought her flowers!" Fuery chimed. "Is she okay to have visitors?"

Gracia laughed softly, beaming. "Okay to have visitors? Elysia has been driving her up the wall. I'm sure she'll be happy to have some company that doesn't want her to color or read her a book. Come on in." Stepping aside, Gracia left space for all of them to enter, clicking her tongue when Breda entered and did not wipe his feet. "Her room is upstairs, second door to the right. Should be opened—and tell Elysia that I need her to come down if she doesn't leave of her own accord."

It was fairly easy to figure out where Hawkeye was without Gracia's directions—Elysia could be heard singing from down the hallway. Havoc unconsciously lead the way, quickly knocking on the open door. "Afternoon, Lieutenant."

Hawkeye was in pajamas, hair down and reading a book. Peering up tiredly, she seemed surprised at the sudden guests as she closed her book and tugged on a sweater. "Hello. What brings you all here?"

There was something strange about seeing Hawkeye in her pajamas and in bed—whether they were long sleeved and more than modest or not. Havoc shrugged nonchalantly. "Nothing major. We just wanted to see how you were feeling. Mustang hasn't said anything, and we figured visiting would be okay."

Fuery smiled sheepishly as Falman offered her the flowers. From the corner of his eye, he saw Elysia leaving the room. "We brought flowers, I hope that's all right. I always thought they were a good get-well present."

The blonde cracked a small smile, taking the bunch of flowers and smelling them. "Thank you. How did you know I liked lilies?" The question was rhetorical; a moment later she had carefully set the flowers aside. "I'm feeling all right, thank you, though I'm already getting tired of being bedridden."

Falman nodded sagely, sliding a hand into his pocket. "Well, it's a nice forced vacation, and if anyone needed a break it was you." Breda nodded in enthusiastic agreement.

"Is Mrs. Hughes taking good care of you? If she isn't I'm sure I can remedy that," Havoc added warningly.

"She's been very kind, letting me stay here," Hawkeye replied quickly, careful to make the statement clear. In all of his kindness, Havoc was like a slightly overprotective older brother and it was in both his and Gracia's best interest that he not get upset about the 'standard of care' in the Hughes' home. Looking over the four men standing nervously by the doorway, she sighed. "And even kinder by helping me." Hawkeye had already noticed that they seemed slightly uncomfortable, and tried to offer a reassuring smile. "How is everything in the office? Roy refuses to say anything about it on the pretense that I am supposed to be resting."

The way Hawkeye calmly used her commanding officer's first name surprised them—and made Havoc smile. "Things are fine but he's right, you know. You _are_ supposed to be resting. That is the definition of bed rest, last I checked, Riza."

Breda watched the exchange carefully, bracing himself for a shouting match and surprised to see that the use of first names as acceptable. The redheaded man found it hard to follow—for as long as he could remember, Hawkeye distanced herself through the use of professional titles. First names had always been off limits in everything but the most dire of circumstances. It was with this thought that he realized that he couldn't recall ever even seeing her outside of the office.

The five of them chatted amicably for nearly a half hour before Falman glanced at his watch and pointed out that it was nearly 1300 hours and they would soon be expected back at work—and if they did not leave then, they would be late.

"We've got to run, sorry," Falman muttered. Unlike Havoc, the other three men refused to use first names, likely for fear of being shot.

"Please feel better," Fuery said quietly. "If you need help with Black Hayate just let me know."

"Can't wait to have you back, maybe Mustang will get some work done—and be less irritable," Breda added.

"Take care of yourself," Havoc ordered as he peered directly at her, his gaze stern. Leaning into her space, he quickly squeezed her shoulder, trying to relieve the slightly look of concern from her features. "Oh…and don't tell Mustang we came, okay? Knowing him, he'd be jealous."

* * *

Author's Notes: School is getting crazy--I spent hours today doing work so yeah...expect less frequent updates. Sorry guys!! I WILL finish this though--it's almost done now.


	14. Chapter 14

"Are you sure you're up to this?" Roy asked, eyeballing the small bouquet of lilies on the nightstand for the thousandth time with a slight look of disgust as Riza pulled on a necklace. "I know that Doctor Ballard gave you the okay but maybe they could come here?"

Riza straightened her blouse, stepping into her shoes and grabbing a sweater. "I'm positive. We've stalled the meeting of these potential parents long enough. And _yes,_ Roy, I feel fine."

Discouraged, Roy stood from the bed, grabbing her bag before she could even move to take it. They walked downstairs in silence, the quiet only broken when Elysia jumped up at seeing them.

"Auntie Riza, Uncle Roy! How come you're so dressed up?" Elysia smiled, running her hands over Riza's brown skirt, her gaze fixated on Roy's tie as though she didn't understand what purpose it served. "And isn't you supposed to stay in bed? It definitely has been only about one month and Mommy said that you'd hafta stay in here in bed till it's been a whole four months."

Riza smiled slightly, "we are going to see somebody, and my doctor said that it was all right for me to get out of bed for this. But thank you for being such a good nurse, remembering what things I need to do to get better."

Roy nodded and ruffled Elysia's hair. "I promise I'll bring her back okay."

The girl beamed. "Really?"

"Of course," Roy replied. "I think I saw that your mom was making cookies. Why don't you go see if you can help her?" The two watched Elysia scamper off, smiling. Roy stopped at the coat rack, grabbing both coats before trying to help Riza slip hers on.

"You ought to stop that behavior, Roy. People are going to be suspicious," Riza said softly, carefully tugging the coat from his hands and putting it on herself. As she buttoned it, she frowned when she realized that she couldn't reach the lowest button.

"You can't reach those buttons, can you?" Roy chided. "You're almost seven months pregnant and you aren't fooling me. When was the last time you saw your feet while standing?"

The blonde defensively crossed her arms. "That…I…Roy Mustang I am _offended_!"

"Will you let me do the button, then?" Roy asked.

"If you promise to keep your mouth shut, then you may do whatever you want," she snapped.

Roy contemplated this and then nodded, "Deal." He stopped down slightly and did the remaining buttons before stepping aside to leave her room to pass. As he reached for the door, he leaned just a half a pace closer to her. "Can I say one thing?"

"If you have to."

Carefully, he opened the door. "Maes was right," he mumbled, one hand now resting gently on her side. "You do look beautiful." Comment made, he pressed a quick, chaste kiss on her forehead.

From her position in the kitchen, Gracia snickered as she heard Riza chastise Roy—what if somebody _saw_—and then the quiet click of her front door closing.

* * *

"Hello again Miss Hawkeye, Mister Mustang." The adoption counselor, Patty, seemed beside herself this afternoon, she was in such a pleasant mood. She kept glancing at Roy and Riza's hands, which were loosely together on the armrest as they sat in the waiting room. "I'm glad to see that you're doing so well. It looks like he's been taking good care of you."

Patty had gestured them up and started guiding them to her office as she chattered on, apparently incapable of keeping herself quiet for more than three seconds at any given time. "Now I think I explained this process on the telephone, but basically you'll meet the three couples interested in adopting your child. Are you certain you're feeling up to this? Are you nervous?"

Riza nodded solemnly, her finger's tightening around Roy's slightly. "I am, a little. But it has to be done and putting it off isn't helping anything."

"All right then. Now, they really are all very nice people, honestly. They are all very excited to meet you, too. If you'll just come with me…"

Patty led them to a small room, settling them in. "The first couple is a young one. They just found at that they won't be able to conceive and have been trying to have their own child for over a year."

Just as Patty had said, the first couple was young and they were also both very friendly. The woman was almost in tears as she explained how desperately she wanted a child; the husband had been surprised to learn that both Riza and Roy were in the military.

As Riza and Roy waited for the next couple, Riza shifted her weight uncomfortably. Roy frowned at her, "are you all right?"

She nodded, frowning as well. "It's very sad…that couple wanted their own child so desperately and here I am, I wasn't even trying and I don't want a child…" Riza folded her hands in her lap, gaze focused down at them.

"Well, that's why you're here," Roy said quietly. "You'll make someone very happy."

Presently, the second couple came in, a slightly older man and woman. Their first child, whom they had had young, had entered the state military and been killed in action at Briggs just shy of two years ago. To Roy, it was a shock how widespread military influence was. The husband was apologetic about the whole situation leading up to the pregnancy, and he had been quite open to allowing communication between Riza and the child. The wife, however, was far less accommodating—she was not happy to hear that the mother was in the military and even less comfortable that the biological father was unknown.

Needles to say, neither Roy nor Riza was pleased with this couple. It was clear to Roy as Riza politely excused herself that she was somewhat upset. Patty had time to pop in, and unlike her usual self, she was frowning. "I'm so sorry," she said quietly. "The woman had said she was all right with the fact that you worked with the military…is Miss Hawkeye all right? She seemed a bit upset."

"The woman was a little rude and I don't think Riza's feeling very well anyway. I know that this whole process is making her nervous."

"Ah…are you certain she's up to seeing another couple? They've traveled all the way from Dublith," Patty sighed. "I'm sure if she isn't okay then we can reschedule…"

Riza was just entering the room, slightly ashen. "They've come a long way…I'm all right."

That said, Patty took her leave from the room, saying she'd send the next couple in shortly. Instead of conversing, the two sat in relative silence. It was Riza who first reacted to the couple in the doorway—her jaw dropped slightly and for good measure she blinked several times to clear her vision. Roy was a few moments behind her, and he was just as shocked when he realized who was waiting to speak to them.

"Mister and Misses Curtis," the blonde stammered. Riza was acutely aware of the cold glare that Izumi was directly pointing at them.

"So it's true then. I thought I might have remembered your name wrong," Izumi said quietly. "Apparently not. It's your child, then? The two of you?"

Roy choked on the sip of water he was drinking and Riza could feel the color draining from her face. "N…no," she mumbled, her gaze shifting quickly to the floor. "I was…ah…" she clearly seemed to struggle with wording what had happened. "It wasn't consensual and…"

"It's all right," Izumi finally said, her voice somewhat gentler. "I get it." The dark haired alchemist's gaze softened considerably as the entire situation sank in, and she sat down. "You might be partially responsible for Edward getting involved in the military, but it has always been very easy to forget that you have lives outside of those uniforms."

Roy was sitting silently and Riza had bowed her head, looking nearly ashamed. Closing her eyes and swallowing hard, she mumbled, "You and quite a few others."

* * *

That evening, Roy sat and puttered around with some of his neglected paperwork from earlier in the day and Riza sat quietly in bed, staring at the notes she had acquired from the earlier interviews. For the most part, the two worked in relative silence; every once and again she would turn a page or Roy's pen would scribble across the dotted line as he signed whatever form it was that he was working on.

The silence continued diligently until Elysia popped her head in, trying unsuccessfully to balance a tray with three cups on it. Both adults saw the impending disaster and started to move to take something from the girl; Roy got there first and shot Riza quite a nasty look for getting up. Tray now safely removed from her hands, Elysia beamed. "Auntie Riza, we made you hot cocoa! You, and Uncle Roy, and me too!"

Riza smiled tiredly and patted the bed beside her, scooting slightly so Elysia had room to sit. The girl took a half-full cup of hot chocolate from the tray Roy was holding and skipped over to Riza's bed, handing the cup over. She proceeded to do the same with both her cup and then, taking the tray from Roy, handed him his cup. Finally, she climbed up onto the bed and scooted so she was comfortably next to Riza. "Auntie Riza, can I feel if the—"

Without a word, Riza stopped the child with one hand and nodded. Excited, Elysia scooted off the bed and placed her cup on the floor, again climbing back on. After a relatively long process of stretching, smiling and staring, she put both of her small hands on the blonde's swollen stomach. For a few moments, there was silence. Roy watched, completely uncertain of what Elysia could be doing; Riza watching with a look of tired amusement.

After a few minutes of the silence, Riza took the girl's hands and resituated them, slightly lower. At this, Elysia let out a little squeal and clearly pressed her hands harder against Riza's stomach. "Oh! Oh, Uncle Roy come feel this, you hafta feel it!" She jumped out of the bed and ran over to Roy, grabbing one of his hands in both of hers and pulling him along with her as she hurried back to the bed. "Feel, feel!"

Offering the sharpshooter an apologetic look, he did as the three-year-old requested and placed one hand on Riza's stomach. Puzzled, he looked at the mop of golden-brown hair beneath him, completely at a loss for what she wanted him to feel. Glancing up, he saw a slight grimace of pain on Riza's features, and opened his mouth to inquire as to its presence when he felt a sharp kick against his hand. Startled, he snatched his hand back, holding his wrist, coal-black eyes darting between the child and the woman in the room.

"Didja feel the baby moving, Uncle Roy? Didja? Isn't it cool?" Elysia jumped back, grabbing her untouched cup of hot chocolate and taking a large sip. "That's the baby moving! The baby's moving, and Auntie Riza said that I could feel! She said…she said that I prob'ly wouldn't be able to feel the baby move till she kicked hard enough to hurt her." At this realization, Elysia frowned. "Oh no! Auntie Riza did that hurt? Does the baby moving hurt?"

The large quantity of words that Riza had just listened to took a moment to sink in. Once they had, she smiled at the girl and carefully ran her fingers through her hair. "No, it didn't hurt. But the baby is kicking very hard. I think they know that you're excited."

Satisfied with this answer, Elysia looked at Roy, beaming. "Didja feel the baby?"

Dumfounded, Roy nodded. "Yeah," he mumbled, still apparently processing the event. "I did. They are kicking hard."

Riza, who was clearly aware of how taken aback the raven-haired man was, sighed and looked to the little girl cupping her hot chocolate with a proud smile. "Elysia, thank you so much for bringing us hot chocolate. But do you remember how your Uncle Roy and I were out all day today?" The girl nodded. "I haven't done that in a very long time, so I'm very tired, and I think I will go to sleep soon. And it's getting close to your bedtime too," the blonde added teasingly.

As if he had been hovering out the door and waiting for his cue, Maes walked in, seeing the disgruntled look on his friend's face. "Elysia, darling, it's getting late. You need to go to bed now."

"But _Daddy_ Auntie Riza just let me feel the baby move!" She stamped her foot in defiance, pouting.

"It's late," Maes replied calmly, taking the cup from her with one hand and scooping her up with the other. "And Aunt Riza is tired. Don't you think she looks tired, Uncle Roy?" The bespectacled man shot Roy a look over his daughter's shoulder that clearly implied that the raven-haired man was to agree with him.

"Oh, yes," Roy sputtered, catching on perhaps a second too late. Elysia looked unconvinced, and so he continued. "Really, Elysia. We're both tired—you know I got up very early today so I could get work done in the morning. I think I'm going to go to bed soon."

With the most encouraging voice she could muster, Riza piped in. "I think everyone is tired tonight, sweetheart. We're all going to bed."

It was Riza's comment that caused the child to cave and she sank comfortably into her father's arms, still pouting but resigned to the fact that she would be going to bed. "Give Aunt Riza and Uncle Roy a kiss goodnight."

This was a routine that still got under Riza's skin. The gesture was certainly welcome and very sweet, but something about it left her stomach turning. Even still, Elysia leaned in and pressed a kiss against Riza's forehead, reaching out for a hug as well. Carefully, Riza returned the gesture and then sat back, watching the exchange between Roy and the child. Roy seemed more comfortable with the act, probably a result of spending more than a few nights at the Hughes' in the past.

Maes just nodded at them knowingly as he left the room, closing the door over behind him.

"So…that really was the baby?"

She nodded, smiling. Roy hesitantly placed his palm pressed against her stomach again for a good five minutes, feeling until the movement stopped, and tilted his head, grinning like the Cheshire cat. "I didn't know the baby had started moving. When did that happen?"

"A month or so ago. Elysia has been asking when she'll be able to feel the baby kicking…I was certain that if the child's kicking was at the point of hurting me, then someone else would be able to feel." Shifting her weight once again, she sighed. "She's so excited about a new baby, Roy. She doesn't understand that the baby isn't going to stay."

Roy carefully let his hand rest against hers, taking a seat beside her and leaning back against the headboard. "That's why she's still three," he said softly. "She doesn't need to know now. It's not something she'll understand until she's a bit older or until it's happened anyway."

"I know. I wish she did, though," Riza said softly, closing her eyes. For another few moments, they sat in amicable silence. Roy was nodding off, his paperwork discarded and long since forgotten; Riza was looking at the notes she had taken once again.

"You know," she said quietly, turning slightly so she could see him. Roy groggily opened one eye and looked at her. "I think I've made a decision."

* * *

Author's Notes: New chapter! I'm getting a little sad, the story is almost over! I'm planning to write a series of omakes for the end (scenes that I love but just wouldn't fit into the original story, or original versions of scenes that I edited, etc.). Furthermore, I have some little epilogue type bits I want to add. I'm thinking maybe another two, maybe three full chapters before the end. So very sad!

Please read and review!

Oh yeah. I still don't own FMA, either. Just in case you didn't know that.


	15. Chapter 15

During the eight month of her pregnancy, Riza had to fight to keep herself in bed. A week earlier, she had seen Doctor Ballard—the weekly visits now accounted for nearly all of the time she spent out of bed—who had been pleased to say that the baby's head was in the proper position and prepared to drop into place.

Try as he might to be more than available to ease Riza's discomfort, Roy found that she had taken to talking to Gracia about such motherly problems. More disconcerting was the fact that she avoided mentioning the topic all together.

"I think it's just part of…I don't know, Roy…of being a _female_. Gracia talked to me, at least a little bit, but she talked to her cousin who had had a baby already more. You shouldn't take it personally." Maes sighed, sipping at his coffee. "You're lucky you're a pretty heavy sleeper, though."

Roy ran his fingers through his hair, stretching, his back cracking and the sound slightly audible over the chatter of the lunch room. "Why do you say that?" It was only at his lunch break that Roy allowed himself to actively worry about Riza. This certainly wasn't to say that the thoughts did not intrude upon other parts of his work day; it just meant that he was making a concerted effort to restrain his concern to a specific hour of time.

"Riza's been up a lot the past few nights. I didn't really think much of it 'till Gracia scolded me for not telling her straightaway. I slept alone last night, you know! Gracia _abandoned_ me!" Sighing dramatically, Maes removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes with a yawn.

"I didn't know she wasn't sleeping," Roy replied, swallowing hard. Though his hands remained calmly folded on the table, his face betrayed his true demeanor.

"Relax! She is. Sleeping, I mean. Just not through the whole night. Gracia wasn't really either, and she hasn't made a big fuss over it. I think she's just keeping Riza company; especially since she's supposed to be in bed all the time." Maes slid his glasses back on and swallowed another indecent gulp of coffee. "But their talking has kept _me_ awake."

"Life's tough." Roy took a dejected bite of his sandwich and fiddled with the rim of his cup. "Why hasn't she said anything to me?"

"I told you," Maes repeated, "I think it's a female thing, that nesting sort of instinct. Just wanting to share important information for the furthering of our species! Like how you didn't go to ask Havoc or someone from that lot of people for advise on handling a pregnant woman. I think it's natural for people to gravitate to people with experience in the area at hand."

"Thank you for that insight, Hughes," the alchemist mumbled, resting his head against his palm. "Since you are getting inside information from Gracia, has she said anything else?"

"Who? Gracia?" The nod from Roy's general direction affirmed that this was the inside source of whom he was referring to. "Not much. She's been trying to give her tips on how to be more comfortable. I think that's part of why she's not sleeping; since the baby's head has dropped lower or whatever it is that babies do before they are born."

"So she's not sleeping and she's in _pain_?" Frustrated, Roy planted his hands firmly against the table and pushed himself to his feet, grabbing his tray. By the time Maes even had the chance to get to his feet, Roy had already thrown the remainder of his half-eaten sandwich into the trash and was now headed for the door at a pace that very much resembled a man on a mission.

"Where are you headed off to in such a rush?" Maes asked, picking up the pace to attempt to match his disgruntled friend's.

"To talk to Riza."

"But I told you, Roy. Her not saying anything is a female thing and it's really nothing against you—"

"I know, but I don't really care!" Brushing past Maes, Roy stormed down the hall, hands stuff in his pockets. Standing alone in the hallway, Maes swallowed and turned to head back to his own office, considering telephoning his house to give proper warning of the infuriated Roy Mustang headed in that direction.

"Fine then…just don't say I didn't warn you."

* * *

It truly took a substantial amount of effort to do as Doctor Ballard had ordered. For almost a week, then, Riza found that—though her breathing had gotten easier as the weight of the baby shifted, she was feeling worse in other capacities. The constant, throbbing ache in her lower back made it increasingly difficult to sit still, let alone lay in bed. Even Gracia's suggestion of lying on her left side had done nothing to help. Thankfully, Riza's subtle complaints had not fallen on deaf ears, and Ballard allowed her to walk around a bit to try and ease the discomfort.

Pacing around the house was how that snowy afternoon had found her. Gracia and Elysia had left to do some grocery shopping, an absence that she had to admit she greatly appreciated. For all of her sweetness, the child-gone-nurse was beginning to grate on her final nerve, and Heaven forbid Elysia see Riza walking around. She was supposed to be in _bed_, of course, and walking around did not count as being in bed. On this deduction, Elysia was correct. The only way to walk around the house, then, was to do it when the pint-sized nurse was not present.

Riza was standing in the kitchen; trying to decide why she had taken the trip all the way downstairs and contemplating if she wanted a cup of tea when there was a harsh knock on the front door. She padded quietly into the foyer, wondering if Gracia had finished her shopping faster than she had anticipated. Peering through the peephole, however, she saw that it was Roy standing at the Hughes' front door, shivering slightly in the snow.

Opening the door, Riza instinctively jumped back at the blast of cold air. Roy stepped in quickly without a word, slamming the door behind him and shedding his coat. With a heavy sigh, he hung the black coat on the coat rack, now facing her.

"What's the matter? You seem angry." Riza had taken another step back at the clear sight of Roy's very irritated grimace.

"What's the _matter_ is that you haven't been sleeping according to Hughes and something is clearly bothering you. Yet somehow, you refuse to make mention of it! Do you realize you have hardly spoken to me for a week?" Roy was unknowingly advancing towards her, gradually getting closer to her. She backed away.

The blonde, now backed into a wall, considered his statement, a hand holding herself steady, amber eyes focused on the floor. Frozen in position, Roy swallowed—hard. She was trembling.

"I'm sorry," she finally murmured. "I didn't want to worry you and Gracia has been very helpful as far as telling me what sorts of things are normal and what things are not." She rubbed her palms over her arms to generate warmth though she wasn't feeling cold.

Roy was trying desperately to calm himself down. Her slightly hurt tone of voice alerted him to the truth of her statements, and it suddenly seemed cruel to have confronted her the way he had. Just as Maes had said, the instinct to talk to other women about her current situation was—obviously—a 'female thing'. And quite normal, at that. Finally, he managed to place together a sentence. "Are you all right? You're shaking."

Again, she involuntarily ran her hands over her arms once, feeling the slight tremble in her muscles. "What? No, it's nothing…I'm all right. It's one of those things Gracia said was normal. It comes and goes."

"Oh."

The two stood awkwardly in the foyer for a moment; Roy was still pinning her to the wall, both hands pressed directly above her shoulders. Riza had pressed her back against the wall, letting her eyes droop slightly. The heavy silence was stifling. Finally, Roy sighed. "I thought you were still supposed to be on bed rest?"

"Doctor Ballard told me I could walk around a little." At the look of confusion on Roy's features, she continued. "To help my back. It's been bothering me a bit." Riza nudged her way out from behind Roy, heading silently for the stairs. Roy watched her hobble towards the steps, her gait uneven. Brows furrowed, he leaned closer to her, a hand now against her shoulder to stop her. "You're sure you all right?"  
She hesitated, the hand she had placed on the banister now tightening around it. "Ah…it's because the baby's head had dropped."

"But…" the dark-haired man sputtered, trying to piece together his comment. "but the baby isn't due for almost another month."

Bracing one hand on either side of the banisters, she lowered herself to sit on the steps, disregarding the fact that it would be a monumental task to get to her feet in a few moments. "I know. Doctor Ballard things the baby may be a little bit early."

* * *

Notes: Hey guys sorry for such a long time without an update. School has been soo hectic.


	16. Chapter 16

Three nights later, even Roy—who was quite the heavy sleeper—could not sleep through the fussing going on upstairs. Every few minutes, the floor creaked, signifying that someone was moving. He didn't see any lights turn on though he had sat up on the couch to watch, and didn't hear any voices, either. He started to wonder if it was just Gracia or maybe Elysia puttering about. The stairs creaking further intensified his reasoning for believing it was one of the two aforementioned persons; Riza had needed help up the stairs the other afternoon.

"Roy? Are you awake?"

Surprised, he started to stand, just faintly making out the figure of the woman standing at the bottom of the stairs. It was Riza, it looked like she was holding her stomach, and the hesitance in her voice was indicative of something bothering her. His mind fleetingly wondered why she hadn't gone to Gracia and dismissed the thought immediately; he was almost glad she came to him.

"Yeah, I'm up. Are you all right? I heard you moving around upstairs." Switching on one of the small lamps on the table in hopes of not waking any of the sleeping Hughes', he intercepted her at the foot of the stairs, gingerly resting a palm against her shoulder.

"Just a little jittery. I don't feel very well," Riza replied quietly, letting out a sigh that sounded more like a hiss. He could feel how tense her shoulders were, and gently guided her towards the couch. For half of a minute, he considered how to proceed from here.

Finally, "are…you having contractions?"

It was a conversation that he had had with Maes the other day after Riza had told him that the baby might be delivered early. Furthermore, he had been reading those pamphlets again that Doctor Ballard had given Riza about recognizing signs of labor starting. Regular contractions was at the top of the list, along with a small red asterisk boldly proclaiming that if the woman is having regular contractions less than fifteen minutes apart then said woman should be headed to the doctor's office to deliver her baby.

Riza tensed, gritting her teeth. Gracia had asked her the same thing when she went to bed almost five hours ago, and the answer had been yes but they were very far apart and not very consistent. Now, they were consistent and closer together. And they _hurt_. "Yes."

He could feel the tension radiating from her and felt himself starting to get concerned. Riza knew what to do. Roy knew that the maternal instinct of knowing how to deliver a baby would kick in when the time was right. What he did not know was why Riza sounded so scared. He folded his hands tightly in his lap to avoid alerting her to the fact that he was getting nervous himself. "Are they…well…regular and close together?"

Again, she nodded. "The last set I timed was fourteen minutes and thirty-three seconds apart," Riza mumbled. She was tugging Roy's blanket out from underneath her and resting it against her lap, hands trembling just slightly. "Should we call Doctor Ballard?"

The frightened tone of voice she had adopted was only making it more difficult for him to stay calm. "Yeah. Stay here, I'll be right back." Without another word, he smoothed her hair and got to his feet, tiptoeing to the kitchen where the telephone was. Dialing the number to Ballard's office, he received an automated message, asking him to telephone the hospital if the call was an emergency.

After waiting for three agonizingly long rings and trying to tune out the slight hisses of pain from the other room, there was an answer. The nurse sounded indecently perky for three o'clock in the morning, and a bit of confusion ensued as Roy did not immediately designate himself as a friend of the woman in labor—the nurse asked if Mrs. Mustang was experiencing regular contractions. After sorting that out, the nurse instructed him to grab Miss Hawkeye's things and please bring her to the hospital immediately, and that she would call Doctor Ballard at home to tell her that delivery was imminent.

"What did she say?"

Roy hardly made it back into the room before he nearly walked into Riza, who was waiting for him in the doorway. "The nurse in labor and delivery said it's time to go and see them."

* * *

It barely took Roy five minutes to get ready and grab Riza's coat. It took a bit longer to calm down Maes and Gracia, who were asking if they were certain they could go all right by themselves. Roy assured them, and then the two made their way to the hospital. Riza was decidedly quiet as they drove, and even more so when they arrived at the hospital. For two hours, she tried to focus on the book she had brought and deliberately kept her mouth shut. Finally, she slammed the book shut and placed it on the table. Her brows were tightly knit, her arms were crossed, and she was glowering at the wall.

"The wall hasn't done anything," Roy said quietly, leaning forward in his chair, inching closer to her. "You're sure you don't want any pain medication? You look really uncomfortable." The concern in his voice was evident, and Riza's gaze softened slightly as she looked at him.

"I don't want any medicine," she replied quietly.

It was the little things that signified her discomfort. As her contractions grew stronger, longer and closer together, her breathing would grow tense and ragged only to ease. If he managed to get her to talk at all, she would fall silent to try and breathe through each painful contraction. He wasn't surprised that she didn't curse, even less surprised that she kept her mouth otherwise closed spare the occasional hiss of pain.

"Okay. So…" he tried to think of conversation that might take her mind off of the discomfort. "Do you have any ideas? If it's a boy or a girl? I've read that mothers just have an instinct, like they just know before they have the baby."

"No," was the curt reply. She took a sip of water and focused on her feet, shifting her weight in the bed.

"You have to have an idea. You've been toting around that baby for eight months. Something has to give you a hint as to whether or not it's a girl or a boy," Roy insisted. In retrospect, irritating the blonde sharpshooter was probably a bad idea, but the thought didn't occur to him then.

Riza shrugged slightly, rubbing her hands over her face with a heavy sigh. "Not really." Through the haze of pain, she was aware of the fact that he was trying desperately to make her feel better. She also realized that she was not helping him at all. "When I really think about it…a little girl."

He was dumbfounded by the comment. Though he was making an effort to help her, he was not expecting her to so readily come up with an answer. "Any reason you say that, or just a guess?" In the back of his mind, he was pleased with the idea of a smaller, pint-sized baby Riza running around. He pushed the thought from his mind; whatever the gender of the child, they would be headed to live with proper parents, parents who didn't spend their days offering their lives to the state.

"Just a guess," she replied quietly.

The silence hung heavily over the room, almost stifling in its weight. The minutes ticked by agonizingly slow, and though Riza was clearly uncomfortable and quite awake, Roy could feel sleep creeping into his eyes. He rubbed at them tiredly, wishing he hadn't been so foolish as to try and stay awake to listen for Riza's movements at night. He was certainly regretting it then.

"You don't need to stay awake." Riza's voice came softly, audible just over the beeping of the fetal heart monitor and tense as the breathed through the discomfort.

Roy smiled, as confident a smile as he could muster, "I don't mind. If I went to sleep, I might miss something interesting. Do you want more water?" The question was foolish—her cup was three-quarters of the way full and she had been fingering the edge of it more than drinking it. Amber eyes flitted to the cup, to him, and back. She nodded.

As he bustled to empty the cup and made quite a show of cleaning it out, he tried to think of conversation to remove her mind entirely from the situation at hand. "You haven't missed much at work—except for a few pranks."

This immediately drew her attention, and she looked up from the hands that were folded tightly in her lap. "Is that so?"

"Yeah. Poor Fuery always seems to be the target for that sort of thing because he's so oblivious, and yesterday was no exception." Roy emptied the cup for the fourth time and rinsed it once again, trying to think of what prank he was referring to. The previous day in the office had been wholly uneventful spare the usual questioning from his men about Riza's current condition. He tried to think of some sort of foolishness that had happened recently and fell short.

If she sensed that he couldn't come up with a proper recollection of what happened, she did not make that clear. "What happened?"

"Well…" Roy paused, filling the cup and finally walking back over, placing it gingerly on the small nightstand. "Breda and Havoc thought it'd be a good idea to get someone locked in a closet. I'm sure you remember when they tried to get _us_ locked—"

"Yes. I remember that," she interjected, stopping him mid-sentence. She needed no reminding of the incident where she spent a good half of her afternoon locked in the broom closet, pistols having been wrangled away from her and stored at a reasonable distance.

Roy shrugged, thinking that it may have been an unintelligent idea to bring up the incident as it seemed to irritate her further. "Well, anyway. They told Fuery that there was some equipment they needed from down the hall. The supply cabinet. The poor kid has been doing a lot of the little fetching jobs you usually do—filing papers, retrieving forms and getting different equipment from various places in headquarters. He didn't think anything of it; I suppose that makes him a great target."

She closed her eyes, gritting her teeth, but nodded to agree with him. Whether she agreed with the foolishness that went on in her office or not, Fuery always was quite the target for a harmless office prank.

"So he's off down the hall to get whatever it was Havoc wanted, and doesn't come back. A half an hour passes, then an hour, and Breda is so beside himself with laughter that he can't contain it anymore. He offers to go see what's happened…and he doesn't return for another half an hour."

Now she was drumming the fingertips of her left hand on the bed; her right hand was gingerly rubbing her temples. If she wasn't smiling just slightly, he would've thought that he was just making her more uncomfortable.

"Turns out that Breda forgot the key, so he got himself locked in too. Havoc at least had the sense to bring a key with him and the whole lot of them returned to the office, a little flustered and embarrassed but relatively uninjured otherwise. It's madness without you in the office, you know, Riza. It's like a lot of kindergarten children who have been given the afternoon to play without supervision," Roy said slowly, running a hand through his hair tiredly.

"You are not one to talk, Roy. I've seen you partake in quite a few of their pranks," she replied, tugging at the blankets slightly and shifting her weight for what seemed like the thousandth time in the past three minutes.

"You're sure you don't want medicine? I'm sure they've got something…" Roy was on his feet in an instant, half peering out the door of the room, looking for some physician or nurse to administer pain medication. He did little by means of waiting for Riza's response, almost out the door when a stern 'no' stopped him dead in his tracks.

"Really, Riza…you're positive? They've got plenty of things that aren't going to have any real impact except making you feel better."

The grumbled 'no' did little appease him, but he fussed around the room anyway. While he was quiet, Riza situated herself for some rest, the throbbing headache accompanying the contractions only leaving her exhausted. Unfortunately, his quiet did not last long as he paced around the doorway. "You know, they aren't doing much by means of checking on us. What if…what if the baby's heart stopped beating! Or if you were getting really sick?" Roy crossed his arms, glaring down the hall. "And where is Doctor Ballard? She ought to be here by now to see what's going on…Maes was right, I don't know how to handle all this. He knows how to handle fetching doctors and the like; I should've allowed him to come—"

Roy barely managed to duck out of the way of the flying cup of water that was chucked at his head. The liquid unceremoniously splashed to the floor and the cup made contact with his shoulder. Startled, he held his hands up in a sign of innocence, panic on his features. "Roy…_please _shut up."

* * *

Author's Notes: Ahhhh so close to the end...I'm almost kind of depressed by that... 


	17. Chapter 17

Twenty-two hours and thirty-three minutes.

Roy had been counting.

Eighteen hours and fifty-eight minutes ago, Riza's water had broken. Right after she had managed to fall asleep. She jolted out of her slight resting state and nearly fell out of bed at the power of the contraction. After they changed the linens, she refused to return to bed and had taken to pacing the halls and walking around the room. He asked her why, and she said it helped the pain a little bit.

Sixteen hours and two minutes ago, Maes Hughes had called—from the office—to say that he had alerted Fuery, Breda, Havoc and Falman of the current situation and that Roy wouldn't be in that day. He also asked, five times, how Riza was doing. Roy told him to be quiet and hung up.

Fifteen hours and forty-seven minutes ago, a very nervous Kain Fuery called, asking to speak with 'Lieutenant Hawkeye, please'. Roy told him that she wasn't feeling well and didn't want to talk. The young officer mumbled something about wanting to wish Hawkeye well. To this, Roy relented and handed the phone over—if only get him to be quiet.

She was on the phone for exactly three minutes and two seconds. Just seconds before the end of said conversation, she told Fuery that she was really not feeling well. She asked—very politely for a woman nearing what was her sixteenth hour of labor—if he would mind if she hung up now as she'd like to rest. Given the okay to do some from the bespectacled officer, she slammed the phone into the receiver and closed her eyes.

Fourteen hours and twelve minutes ago, a small bouquet of lilies was delivered to the room. Attached was a card signed by the entire office, though Riza immediately recognized Fuery's handwriting. She said it must have been his idea, as he had been the one to bring flowers when they visited. Roy fumed—it was the little communications expert who had brought her those flowers that were still sitting (albeit wilted) on the nightstand at the Hughes'.

But now it had been twenty-two hours, fifty-nine minutes and thirty-two seconds, and all he wanted was for this escapade to be over. If he had thought the looks of discomfort on Riza's face at the beginning of labor were bad, the grimace on her features as she tried to keep from pushing to deliver the baby—what her body naturally wanted to do—was enough to make him sick himself.

"All right, Riza, dear." Doctor Ballard had arrived about three minutes and ten seconds after Fuery had gotten off of the telephone, and she was fussing about the blonde as though the end of the world was imminent. "Your body has finally caught up to your head, and is ready to deliver the baby. Riza, I hope this is all right, but I'm going to ask Roy to step outside. That's okay?"

The blonde gritted her teeth, her left hand tightened into a fist around Roy's as she tried to situate herself the way Doctor Ballard was moving her. "I don't _care_," she snapped, her amber eyes flashing in frustration. Roy glanced at the doctor and smoothed stray hairs from Riza's forehead, clearly uncertain. _He_ had no biological instincts telling him how to handle the present situation. For a woman who claimed to have no opinion either way, the iron-clad grip on his hand seemed to speak otherwise.

"Roy, if you please," Doctor Ballard prompted. She was pulling on gloves and preparing an obscene amount of tools that looked as though they had _no place_ in childbirth. He disentangled his hand and almost sprinted for the door; Riza was looking at the tools as well, and the look of concern on her features was indicative of the fact that she felt the same.

Outside, Roy debated between hovering at the door and moving to the waiting room. He wondered how any fathers-to-be did this; it was nerve wracking standing just beyond the door and listening to the events transpiring inside. As he expected, Riza did little more than grumble through the pain—down the hall he heard someone screaming bloody murder. As that mother-to-be from down the hall yelled '_get me my husband so I can kill him!_', Roy decided that the waiting room would be a much better place to spend his time.

In the waiting room, he drummed his fingers on his leg and then switched to counting ceiling tiles; anything to keep his mind off of waiting. He was considering going to get something to eat when he heard an indecent amount of noise approaching from the stairwell. When he thought about it, Roy knew that he shouldn't have been surprised, but to see the entire office plus Maes Hughes standing in the waiting room of labor and delivery, all in uniform, was more than he could handle at the moment.

"_What_ do you want?"

Fuery nervously shifted his weight and looked to Maes, as though the investigations officer was wholly responsible for the plan. "We came to see how Riza is feeling, that's all."

"Well as you can see, _I've_ been kicked out, so you can't go in now," Roy snapped, glowering.

"Someone's testy. Didn't get enough sleep last night, Chief?" Havoc was chewing on his cigarette; he had been yelled at when they entered the main hospital complex to put the stick out before proceeding further.

"_Havoc_…" Roy stood, marching irritably over towards Havoc, his glare menacing.

Fuery jumped between them, along with Breda. "Did the Lieutenant like the flowers, Colonel? I hope we sent them to the correct room."

Even with the thought of how pleased Riza had looked with the flowers that she received from the office in his mind, Roy had to admire how heartfelt his youngest officer was. "Yes. You sent them to the correct room, and she likes them."

"We figured you hadn't eaten," Breda said, now handing over an oversized paper bag from what looked like the deli from down the street. "We got something for dinner and figured we'd keep you company. When we called again to ask if either you or Hawkeye wanted food, they told us that she was in delivery. Guess we were too late for feeding her, but we still got something for you." The plump man placed the bag on the small table in the waiting room and then pushed it closer to the chairs. When Roy didn't move (the others gladly took seats to eat), Breda crossed his arms. "Sir, I don't know about you but we skipped lunch so we could drop by earlier."

Roy blinked, puzzling through the comment before finally taking a seat, staring at the food. Maes slammed a paper plate of food in front of him and then continued serving the others. "Gracia said she'll drop by some time tomorrow. Since its Saturday I can keep tabs on Elysia. As much as I know how Riza _loves_ my little angel, three-year-olds aren't allowed in labor and delivery if they aren't direct relatives."

"It's so late," Falman grumbled as he munched on his sandwich. His eyes scanned the room, seeing the nurses at the station watching them uncertainly. "I guess they didn't expect so many people."

"Probably not," Havoc offered, chomping inelegantly on his chips. "When did they kick you out, Chief?"

"Maybe a half hour ago," Roy replied, staring at the food in front of him, uninterested. "I appreciate you all coming but…"

"I know," Maes interjected, running his hand through his hair. "Thanks for coming, but get out. You can't want to get rid of us that fast—we haven't even done anything yet." He continued to munch on his dinner, shrugging. "Company for an hour won't kill you. It might do you some good, anyway."

"It'll…it will take that long?!" Roy spluttered, obsidian eyes widening, confused.

Maes blinked, looking at the other men uncertainly, his eyes unnaturally wide beneath his glasses. "I'm glad we stopped by."

* * *

Author's Notes: I can finally post this becuase my keyboard isn't broken anymore, yays! So close to the end. I know this is a short chapter but it's a logn section so I wanted to space it like this. Enjoy and please review.


	18. Chapter 18

Three hours. _Three hours_, and Roy was glad that the men had hung around for two of those hours, because he was certain he would've lost his mind waiting alone for so long. Doctor Ballard herself emerged and meandered down the hall, looking a bit haggard and most definitely tired. "Roy," she said, looking at the bag stuffed with garbage curiously. Her eyes skipped to the dark bags beneath the man's eyes, and she sighed.

"Is she all right?" He almost jumped out of his seat, knocking the bag over as he stood and moved to meet the doctor halfway through the waiting room. He seemed to consider disregarding the spillage of paper before he stooped down and stuffed everything back in the bag. "Well?"

"Calm down," Ballard said gently. "She's perfectly fine. Tired, but fine. The baby as well. It's a girl, and she's quite healthy." The elderly woman's face softened as her smile grew. "And Riza is asking for you," she added.

Roy followed quietly, uncertain. He was fairly certain that Riza would be exhausted, and part of him wondered if she'd be cross from the lack of rest. Part of him wondered what her reaction to the child would be, finally being able to hold her, see her, touch her.

His question was answered as he walked into the room. Riza was sitting upright with her back resting against the bed, a small bundle of a newborn child wrapped tightly in a blanket and resting gently in the blonde's arms. The baby was squirming a bit, every now and then making little grunts of what Roy believed to be disapproval at the cold as she cuddled in her mother's arms.

Riza did look exhausted—he was sure of that. Strands of blonde hair were plastered against her forehead and neck and the bags beneath her eyes were unmistakable. Her amber eyes were focused squarely on the newborn's face, and she did not look up when he entered.

It felt as though he was disturbing some sacred scene; the look of placid contentedness on Riza's features and the soft sounds coming from the newborn. Despite all of the trouble that this little baby had caused her, Riza seemed more than pleased to hold her newborn.

"Do you want to see her?"

Her voice startled him from his thoughts, and he realized that it was Riza asking the question—Doctor Ballard had left the room already. He looked over, nodding hesitantly. Her left hand was beckoning him over towards the bed, and he walked quietly, scared of making more noise then absolutely necessary. Riza gingerly smoothed the blanket over slightly, revealing a small, plump and slightly red face.

Roy carefully fingered a few of the soft yellow curls on the little girl's face before looking back up to Riza. Instinctively, he pulled the dried strands of hair from her face and neck, smoothing it back. Her amber eyes were watching his every movement, widening in surprise when he pressed his lips to hers, his hand against her shoulder.

When he finally stepped back from her, they were both a bit short of breath and Roy beamed at her. It didn't matter if that newborn was staying here with them or not—after what had happened, the baby's mere presence had changed everything between them. "She's beautiful, Riza." He leaned back towards her, leaving another soft kiss on her cheek. "She looks just like her mother."

* * *

Doctor Ballard had insisted upon one night and most of the next day in the hospital. Her justification for this was that it was in the best interest of the newborn—which she knew that the new mother would not argue. Furthermore, Rou found that he was ordered out of the room once every two hours or so. He had made the mistake of asking why the first time and even nearly a full day later he regretted it. The image of Riza feeding her newborn, feeding her newborn in a way only she could was almost too much for his mind to handle. He hated to admit it, but as a hot-blooded male he couldn't wait for a chance to observe the feeding ritual himself. It took him a quarter hour to try and get the thought from his head.

Roy had little time to dwell on the prospect as Riza had, upon being discharged with her child, gone straight to get her bags and then the train station. In the bitter cold weather at the train station, Roy spent the half hour they spent waiting for the train trying to convince Riza that resting for a few more days would be beneficial. Not only did Riza disagree, she politely told him to drop the topic—or else.

The ride on the train was relatively quiet. Due to the poor weather and the time of the year, the train was almost empty and it was easy to find an empty compartment. Roy was positive that Riza was exhausted; her shoulders slouched slightly as she cradled the newborn and her eyes were consistently drooping closed.

"I can hold her if you'd like, Riza…I'm sure you could use some rest." Roy stretched his arms and back in preparation for the child. He tried not to think about how ridiculous he'd look holding a newborn baby girl in a pink and obscenely fluffy blanket.

Riza shook her head to try and stay awake before responding. "No…that's all right. She's comfortable where she is." To markedly display her point, she gently smoothed the blanket away from the newborn's face, revealing that the girl was sleeping soundly.

"Okay. But you need to sleep sometime and Doctor Ballard insisted that I make sure you get some rest, so let me know when you want to; I'll hold her." Roy yawned, sinking back into his seat. For nearly an hour, he watched Riza cradle the sleepy child.

The way she tended to the newborn was captivating. Hands that he knew were rough and calloused from years of gunpowder and metal moved with surprising gentleness across the child's back when she woke up and cried. The way she went about mundane baby-care tasks was almost unnerving in how easily it came to her.

As he started to nod off, he admired the contented look on Riza's features. The softness in her gaze was so unlike her in so many ways and yet looked so in place on her features. When he finally fell to sleep, he was surprised to see that Riza nodding off herself—and that her grip on the child remained perfectly steady.

* * *

Author's Notes: Do not own FMA.

I AM SO SORRY GUYS. School has been crazy--I'm taking Introduction to Human Anatomy and Introduction to Physiology and it's just been really time-consuming. Add in the Model United Nations conference and I've just had no time to write. But I'm back!

We're almost done, guys. I'm sad! I think that's partly why I've had such a hard time getting this chapter out...


	19. Chapter 19

"Riza?"

The blonde was fast asleep in her seat, her child cradled gently in her arms and propped safely in her lap. Roy had woken up somewhere in the middle of the train ride and saw that she'd fallen to sleep and tried to pry the baby from her hands. Not only did this wake Riza up at the time, it also earned him quite the nasty glare. He gave her a blanket in penance for waking her and then left her to her own devices. It was such a long ride that he'd fallen asleep again as well. Now, however, the train sat at the station, the conductor having just impatiently informed them that if they planned on getting off of the train, they needed to do it _now_.

It took less than three seconds for Riza to process that she was being spoken to; one to hear it, another to process it, and by the third she was wide awake if not slightly dazed. Stretching her shoulders uncomfortably, she started to stand and tried not to disturb the sleeping bundle in her arms. As he was never one to pass up such an opportunity, he scooped the child from Riza as soon as she stood. Her eyes widened, hands turning almost uncomfortably as she reached to take the child back.

Like a five year old arguing for his toy and keeping it from another, Roy took half a step back and a good three steps away, the gap between himself and Riza just enough so that she couldn't grab for the newborn. "Your arms are so stiff they're still bent—look at that," Roy declared, gesturing his head slightly to her elbows, pleased to see that he was correct in his assertion. "I'll carry her for a little while."

"But—"

"Don't argue with me," he snapped, carefully cradling the child in his right arm as he swung the shoulder strap of one bag over his shoulder. Riza stood on tiptoe to grab the remaining small bag and followed Roy silently out of the compartment and he was almost certain she was shooting a glare at his back.

He was careful maneuvering the steep steps off of the train, tucking his elbows in to guard the pink and fluffy bundle in his arms before moving aside to give Riza to pass. Roy caught her involuntary shiver at the chill in the air and tried not to be surprised when a pair of gloved hands appeared directly in his line of vision, fussing with the newborn's blanket.

"Keep her warm."

"She's fine," Roy replied defensively.

Riza puffed, still tugging at the blanket. "She's _shivering_."

"No she's not, that's _me_."

"Well button your coat," she murmured, "and make sure she doesn't catch cold."

Without a word of argument, he tucked the baby just a little bit closer to his chest and wrapped the excess of his coat around the blanket. Glancing up at the overcast sky, he wondered if it was going to rain—or snow—within the next day, and was certain he saw Riza tug her coat tighter around herself with a shiver.

"Miss Hawkeye, Mister Mustang."

Riza's head snapped up, meeting the dark gaze of the female alchemist, arms crossed over her chest. Sitting on a bench, Izumi Curtis looked relatively irritated, a fact made only slightly more intimidating with Sig looming behind her. Without thinking about it, Roy handed over the child; Riza was moving towards him to take her.

"Mister and Misses Curtis."

If ever there was a situation where tension was tangible, Roy was certain he was currently in it. Riza's gaze was fixated on her child's face, and Izumi was watching the new mother with a hesitant expectation. What the woman was expecting, he wasn't sure. He counted the seconds that passed, and then proceeded to minutes as they ticked by slowly. The two women remained unnaturally still, caught in whatever thoughts they were in. His gaze caught the other man's, and they exchanged a similar look of confusion; Sig coughed.

Riza looked up, snapped from her reverie. Roy could see her squaring her shoulders, straightening her spine, her jaw set and gaze distant—a soldier preparing herself for battle. The thought renewed his discomfort. He could've counted out the beat to her footsteps before she even started walking; he knew it was going to be a precise militaristic march and was correct in his assumption as Riza approached the other woman.

It was clear that Izumi wasn't certain what to expect of the woman. Riza hesitantly stood beside the female alchemist on the bench, rearranging the blanket around her child and running her fingers gently across the girl's cheek. The blonde held her breath as she gently placed the child in Izumi's expectant arms. "T…thank you."

That was it; as soon as the 'exchange' was made, Riza retreated, her expression unreadable as she returned to Roy's side. She kept her mouth firmly clamped shut as she picked up her bag, back to the new parents of her child, looking at the train that had just left them behind.

"You must be tired," Sig suggested quietly, his large hand against his wife's shoulder. "Come have lunch and some tea."

Riza turned, "No, we couldn't impo—"

Roy gripped her shoulder, just a shade more than gently, and finished for her, "thanks for the offer; the next train back to Central isn't for a few hours…"

* * *

It was still powerfully awkward in the sitting room at the Curtis' home, Izumi trying to calm the screaming newborn with Riza standing with her arms folded tightly across her chest. Roy had gone off to try and help prepare lunch and tea, though he knew he had no place in the kitchen. At some point, the two men accepted that this was a situation they best get themselves out of as quickly as possible.

For the third time in the past ten minutes, Izumi tried to give the baby a bottle, which the girl would turn her face away from and continue to wail. Grumbling, she went through the motions of checking everything else—clean diaper, warm enough, no temperature. She was certain that the baby was hungry, but she wouldn't take the bottle.

"You've been breastfeeding her?"

The question was asked softly, and it was surprising that Riza even heard. She nodded. "The doctor suggested it."

"She's clearly not interested in having a bottle," Izumi replied.

"Yes but if I—"

"She can learn, especially after you've gone. But for now, I think the best thing to do would be to humor her." With only the slightest amount of hesitance, Izumi gingerly settled the baby girl in her birthmother's arms, and guided them to the chair.

"You're sure?" Riza still seemed hesitant. Izumi was trying to figure out if it was really a genuine concern that the newborn would learn not to feed from her mother or if it was fear that if Riza continued the intimate ritual with her child she'd not be able to leave. "Positive."

As it was another woman in the room, the blonde didn't hesitate to undo the top few buttons of her blouse; as soon as the baby was feeding the screaming stopped, and both women let out an audible sigh of relief. It was almost ten minutes till the girl was satiated, and finally lulled to sleep. Rearranging herself, Riza cast her gaze to the floor and went to hand the girl back to her legal mother.

"Thank you," Izumi said quietly, taking the now sleeping bundle into her arms and sitting beside Riza.

For just a few moments, the tension had eased between the two respective mothers. They were simply two mothers in different roles, one with the rights as birthmother and the other as an adoptive mother; sharing the common situation of a screaming newborn baby.

Riza swallowed, her eyes focused on a crack in the dark wooden floor, hands folded in her lap. "Have you chosen a name?"

Izumi glanced up. "We've had some ideas, but it didn't seem right to make a decision without your input."

"I have no say in what you choose to name her," Riza replied quietly.

"Not legally," Izumi admitted, "but as far as I'm concerned, you could name her yourself with no input on my behalf."

The blonde considered this, her hands so tightly folded that her knuckles were turning white. "What have you considered?"

"My mother's name was Theresa—when you told us it was a girl, that was the first name that came to mind. We considered the Elric's mother's name but it never quite sat right. The only other girl's name we considered was Sarah." Rattling off a list of baby names to one another almost felt natural. Almost.

"Theresa is a beautiful name," Riza murmured, nodding slightly in agreement.

For a few moments, it was quiet once again. Tense. "What was your mother's name?"

Riza glanced up, the smile on her face just slightly nervous, "Aya."

"Theresa Aya Curtis," Izumi said softly, smoothing soft yellow curls from the newly-named Theresa's face. "She looks a lot like you, you know."

Again, Riza nodded. "Roy's told me the same thing."

Theresa murmured something in her sleep, turning slightly in her blanket. Two pairs of eyes watched the little girl fuss a bit as she napped; occasionally sharing a knowing look of amusement on sometimes concern when it seemed that their charge might wake. Riza would smooth the blanket or gently touch the girl's shoulder; Izumi would carefully smooth hairs on the girl's head or sometimes adjust the way she held her.

From their vantage point from the kitchen, Roy and Sig made a wordless though unanimous decision to leave the two mothers alone.

* * *

Disclaimer: Don't own FMA

Notes: OH MY GOSH, this chapter was so awkward that I felt awkward just writing it. It was so hard to figure out how Izumi and Riza would respond to one another, what they would say (and what they wouldn't say). But this is what I've got. It's a little over 3 pages.

I'm so sorry that it's taken so long to get this up...I should be studying for my physiology exam but...I wrote this instead. Enjoy!


	20. Chapter 20

Izumi had gone upstairs to put Theresa down for her nap and gone to help the men finish preparing lunch. By then, the soup they had been heating was cold and the sandwiches had already been eaten, prompting quite the irritated reaction from the female alchemist. Riza appeared then, and wearily offered to reheat the soup and prepare the table.

"Doctor Ballard didn't want you to be on your feet so much," Roy grumbled, "and you told her that, since you were leaving so soon, you'd take care of yourself."

The blonde crossed her arms, brows furrowed slightly. "I'm well aware of when enough is enough."

"You _promised_ her you'd be careful!" he protested.

The small argument drew the attention of both Izumi and Sig, who watched, puzzled, as the two bickered back and forth not so unlike an old married couple. Sig cleared his throat loudly, standing and putting plates in front of the four chairs at the table. "I will have to agree with him, Miss Hawkeye. Better safe than sorry."

Roy sat back with a contented grin, glad that someone agreed with him. He saw Riza's eyes flit to Izumi as if rallying for support, receiving only a slight shrug in response. Defeated, she sank into the chair beside Roy as Sig brought back in the now reheated soup.

Lunch was a quiet affair. Tensions and anxieties had dissipated somewhat but still hung awkwardly over the table as spoons clanked against bowls. Roy continuously stole glances at Riza as she ate, aware of how somber she appeared. He contemplated if she was regretting giving away her child, dreading when she would walk out the front door, wondering if she'd be able to leave her baby behind without looking back.

"Mrs. Curtis chose a name, Roy," Riza said quietly, amber eyes fixated on the bowl of soup in front of her. She appeared relatively uninterested in eating, as the food looked untouched.

Sig turned to his wife, one eyebrow quirked just slightly. "Theresa Aya," Izumi declared. "For our mothers."

Roy could feel his lips turning upwards in just the slightest hint of a smile. "How fitting."

* * *

The relief was tangible when lunch was finished, dishes were cleaned and dried and sorted away into their proper places. Roy had his hands uncomfortably in his pockets, eyeballing Riza warily. The latter was fussing with the buttons on her coat, every once and again glancing upstairs as though debating whether she wanted to see her child one last time before opening the front door.

"Well…" Riza never had been keen on small talk. Unnecessary conversation was simply not something she participated in—if something needed to be said, she would say it. If it was unimportant, then she couldn't be bothered to even attempt to comment. "Thank you," she said quietly. "But…the train leaves soon and we ought to get back so we don't miss it."

Roy felt a chill run down his spine. That single sentence was the most awkward thing Riza had said all day, and could quite possibly the most awkward thing he had ever _heard_ her say in so many years of knowing her.

"You're more than welcome," Izumi replied. "Keep in touch."

Riza shifted her weight, and Roy cringed. The whole day had been so torturously uncomfortable; he just wanted to be done with it. The blonde didn't respond, and Roy could feel his hand resting gently on the small of her back, smiling and nodding. "Of course—"

From upstairs and down the hall, Theresa Aya Curtis was crying. Screaming and hollering, wailing the likes of which Roy had never heard and _never_ wanted to hear again. Both Izumi and Sig turned, Sig already starting for the stairs. In the brief moment where their backs were turned, Riza ducked out the front door without another word.

* * *

He had thought the train back to Central would be at least somewhat more comfortable, but Riza hadn't spoken since they boarded the train: which had been two hours ago. She was sitting stiffly in the window seat, her gaze fixated at the snow-covered trees as they passed. Roy took up vigil beside her, his hand sitting just lightly against her knee, frowning.

"Riza?"

Riza turned, amber eyes peering at him, a sideways gaze as though she couldn't bear to meet his eyes. He rubbed her knee slightly in a comforting gesture, sliding down the seat to be closer to her, the gap between them closing. Her shoulders sank as she hesitantly took his hand, and he was struck by the desperation in the movement. Roy couldn't help but be reminded of the last time they sat on a train back to Central in a small compartment and alone—and he wasn't happy to see that the demeanor of his traveling companion was similar to their last trip.

Carefully, he ran the fingers of his free hand through the soft, yellow tresses of hair hanging at her shoulders. He smoothed stray strands of hair back down and released her hand to put an arm around her, protective and defensive and soothing all at once as he pulled her close to him. "Are you all right?"

The way he had situated her had her leaning against his chest, and she could feel the vibrations of his voice against her back as he spoke, despite how quietly the question had been asked. Even while waiting for an answer, he gingerly fingered her hair, a reminder that he was still there with her. There, as he had been when she had been taken from him. There, as he had been when she found out that she pregnant from rape. There, as he had been when she nearly miscarried, and there as he had promised he would be from the very beginning: _"It's all right"_, he had said, so many months ago, _"I'm here."_

She sunk against him, tilting her head back and resting it against his shoulder, a hand searching for his to grip it tightly. Her smile was sad, almost halfhearted, the slightest hint of tears in her eyes as she nodded, pressing a kiss against his chin.

"I will be."

* * *

The End

* * *

Author's Notes: OH MY GOSH. It's...done. The story is done. I finished it. I finally finished it. And I'm sad that it's done. (I hope I spaced this little author's note properly, I didn't want it to show up at the bottom of the closing line!)

I want to apologize to my readers. December and January were really tough months for me. Final exams took up all of my free time, and then right after I fell and really hurt myself. I sprained my ankle and couldn't walk for seven weeks, which put quite a damper on my mood and creative spirit. By the time I got out of the ski-boot type cast, I had a nasty cold and am just starting to get over that. Top all that off with school starting, and I just haven't been able to even pretend to get some writing done. But here it is, the end of By Your Wounds. Stay tuned for the epilogue!

Please, please leave a review and tell me what you think. From here on out, possibly in a different story, will be omakes and deleted scenes. I have a few that I want to write and/or post, so though the full plot is posted and an epilogue is coming, this really isn't the end, persay. I guess, like so many things, this "end" really is just a beginning.

This is by far the longest story I've ever written and posted, and I want to thank you all for coming along with me. I sincerely hope you enjoyed this, and that the ending suits you well enough. There is a lot that I tried to imply here, in the title and last scene and little pieces in between. I hope you've picked up on it!

Thank you so much for hanging in there with me, it really means so much. Please tell me what you think, I would greatly appreviate it.


	21. Epilogue

_Colonel Mustang and First Lieutenant Hawkeye,_

_You're going to think I'm out of my mind, but I can't help but be curious. Al and I finally were in town to see Teacher, and when we dropped by her house, a little blonde-headed three year old answered the front door._

_Said three year old was bound and determined to explain just what, exactly, she was doing at Teacher's house. Said three year old was quite excited to see 'Uncle Ed' and 'Uncle Al', though how she even knew who we are is beyond me. She practically dragged us inside, ignoring Teacher calling to ask who was at the front door, and ushered us to the sitting room, where she placed two photographs into my lap._

_She looked familiar. Those eyes and the color of her hair. The features seemed unusual, but those eyes; the same distinct amber color of First Lieutenant Hawkeye's eyes, at that. I didn't realize it until I recognized the connection in the eyes, but then it struck me. Particularly as the little girl was pointing excitedly at the picture she was holding._

_'The mommy who carried me in her tummy,' she called you. _

_'The mommy who takes care of me is your Teacher!' she told me. 'But this is the mommy who carried me in her tummy.'_

_If she hadn't said it with the brightest smile I'd ever seen, the statement would've been sad. Even still, I think it was._

_I didn't even have to look at the picture, not anymore. I remember having to stop by your office and overhearing Havoc and Breda talking about the First Lieutenant being pregnant. I remember how disturbing the thought was at the time, but when someone mentioned how it had happened, I felt guilty for judging the situation so quickly._

_And then here I was, in the sitting room of my Teacher's home, with First Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye's child sitting on my lap, chattering away about the 'mommy who carried me in her tummy' and why that mommy couldn't take care of her._

_I really didn't believe what I was hearing._

_'I want to write the mommy who carried me in her tummy a letter. But I can't write and I don't know where she is at. Do you know?'_

_And I do know. Of course I know._

_I spent the rest of the afternoon transcribing a letter for her. _

_She looks good. Healthy. Teacher keeps her active, and she actually looks a lot like you. It's the eyes that give it away. If you're really looking, you can't miss the distinction. She's small, but not unusually so. She's very enthusiastic, but she's pretty intelligent for her age. Hard working; she loves to cook and though Teacher didn't allow it she wanted to make us cookies._

_Al and I have been here for almost three days now, and I still can't help but stop and do a double-take when I see her, wherever she is in the house. Al told me it seems strange, how things have worked out the way they did. He also asked that I send his regards. And, as he's pointed out, a belated congratulations on your engagement. It's about time, you know. At least that's what __**I**__ think. _

_I enclosed her letter._

_She wanted me to tell you myself, that she's glad that you're the mommy who carried her in your tummy. She didn't say why. But that's what she wanted you to know._

_-Sincerely,_

_Edward Elric

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_

_Dear Mommy,_

_I love you._

_I'm glad you're the mommy who carried me in your tummy._

_I want to meet you one day so I can see you really for real. Please come visit me._

_Love love love love love,_

_Theresa_

_PS: Love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love love. Tell the doggy in your picture I say hi too!_

_

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So this is really the end of all of the story. The epilogue is up. You know, I've had this epilogue written since about...well, definately since the story was at least halfway done, if not earlier than that. Sometime shortly after I wrote the part where Riza decided she couldn't keep the child, I wrote this epilogue. It's a part of why you never see Edward and Alphonse in the story. Originally, I was going to have one of them reccomend Izumi as the adoptive mother.

Who caught the Royai in this chapter? If you missed it, I shall be forever sad.

Thanks, you guys, for sticking me all the way through. Now the "bonus material" is coming up: omakes and deleted scenes. Stay tuned! They'll be posted in this story.

Please leave me a review, since this really is the end of the story in every way.


	22. Deleted Scene: Morning After Mayhem

The following morning, Breda was the first to arrive to work. Unlocking the door, he found the office in disarray; the floor was wet from the previous night's rain, the coat-rack leaning awkwardly against the wall as though it had been tipped over—and most importantly, what appeared to be a substantial amount of blood on the floor. The guns that Hawkeye had been preparing the night before sat abandoned on her desk, and her chair was pushed back and off to the side, which Breda thought was very unlike her.

Uncomfortably, he deposited his lunch at his desk, tiptoeing around the bloody footprints on the floor. There were only three partial prints, diminishing as they approached the office door. Drops of blood had dripped around the room, as if whoever was hurt had been pacing around.

Concern was starting to sink in. Nobody was here yet to work, and there were rumors that persons involved in the previous day's attack had gotten into Central Headquarters. Though Hawkeye was far from what he would call a 'sitting duck', Breda had to admit that in many ways she was very vulnerable sitting in the office, alone, so late. If the building was abandoned, nobody would have heard cries for help, gunshots, or any sort of struggle. Whatever it was that had happened, Breda finally figured, the injured party had to be Lieutenant Hawkeye. The footprints were too small to belong to anyone else who had access to the office and the treads didn't match any military boots.

Fuery arrived shortly after Breda came to his realization, puzzled as to why the larger man was standing in the center of the room, brows furrowed in thought. The smaller officer could sense the panic in the room; the redhead irritably had crossed the room and grabbed the telephone, stabbing numbers into the keypad.

"What's going on?" Fuery asked, swallowing.

"I think Lieutenant Hawkeye might have been attacked by the handful of terrorists that got into headquarters yesterday. There's blood all over the place and the footprints are too small to be any of ours." After a few moments spent glaring at the phone, he slammed the headset into the receiver, frowning. "It's not just her, either."

Puzzled, Fuery waited for the stout man to continue.

"The baby, you know. If something happened to _her_, then the baby can't be all that well off. It's why the Colonel wanted her to stay here last night," Breda elaborated, his grimace darkening as he glared at the phone.

Shifting his weight as he placed his keys on his desk, Fuery looked around the room, eyeballing the footprints. "She didn't answer her phone?"

"No."

Fuery sighed, looking around the room. "Well, I'm sure Colonel Mustang would know what's going on. Have you tried calling him?"

"Not yet, and had you not _interrupted me_ I would have!"

Fuery slinked two and a half steps away from the paunchy Second Lieutenant, frowning. He could feel his nerves growing increasingly rattled as Breda stared at the telephone, listening to what Fuery presumed to be ringing. Once again, the larger man slammed the phone into the receiver. No answer.

"Damn it! He's not answering either. We have to call Investigations. Something could have happened in here. If she's hurt, or been kidnapped or whatever, we have to let them know. Internal Affairs can track her down, but not if we don't tell her she's missing." Breda stormed out of the door, slamming it behind him.

Timidly, Fuery stood dead center in the office, eyeballing the quantity of blood, the footprints. Mustang's coat was hanging on the rack, soaked to a point where it still dripped into a small puddle on the floor.

He straightened his glasses. _Mustang's_ coat was on the hanger? It didn't make sense—when the man left the office yesterday, he took his coat with him. His coat being back in place meant that he had been back in the office the evening before. Carefully, he tiptoed around the mess and back to the coat rack, crossing his arms. From here, he could tell for certain that it was, indeed, his commanding officer's coat.

The door opened, and Falman took three steps in, only to stop dead in his tracks. His eyes widened at the scene, and he looked desperately at Fuery for some sort of explanation.

"We don't know. Second Lieutenant Breda went to talk to Investigations just a few minutes ago." Fuery looked around. "We tried calling Lieutenant Hawkeye and Colonel Mustang but neither of them are picking up their telephone…"

The taller man folded his arms tightly, his gaze following the footprints and disarray. "Hopefully Investigations will know what's going on. Lieutenant Colonel Hughes might know. He's been very involved with the Colonel and Lieutenant lately, keeping tabs on how both of them are doing."

At that moment, Breda returned, Hughes and now Havoc in tow. They almost walked into Fuery, and the younger man scrambled backwards to avoid being collided with.

"You're saying that nobody got in here, that this was all some…some…prenatal baby _accident_ scene?!" Breda's voice was wavering, irritable as he tried to voice his concern and disbelief.

"It's called a placental abruption. I was trying to get Riza to go home, but she was worried about the rain and wanted to wait till Roy was back. But she was sick, and I could tell so I went to call her doctor…when I came back from that, she was bleeding and we made a mad dash for the hospital." Hughes rubbed his eyes tiredly, as though he had spent the majority of his night awake. "She's doing fine now though."

All four men breathed a collaborative sigh of relief.

"As far as getting this place straightened up..."

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Author's Notes: I promised you outtakes, deleted scenes, and omakes! Here is the first one. I don't know how I decided this, originally, but from the start I decided Breda would be the first in the office. 

This takes place the morning after Riza has the placental abruption--sort of between chapters 12 and 13, though part of this scene runs concurrently with a scene in chapter 12 (the morning where Roy is talking to doctor Ballard).

Enjoy!


	23. Deleted Scene: Hospital Nightmares

Author's Note: Don't own FMA.

If you can't tell by the events, this takes place the evening when Roy and Riza check into the hospital emergency room. It doesn't technically fit into the storyline because Roy calls Maes to come. That said, this scene was actually what was originally in that section, so I thought it'd make a good deleted scene. Please read and review )

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That first evening, with Riza _finally_ asleep—really asleep—for the first time in weeks, Roy stared blankly at her, his stomach turning in anger The doctor's recent attempts at suturing the gash in the back of Riza's head had caused bleeding once again. For what seemed like the thousandth time, Riza's cornflower-yellow tresses were matted with drying blood.

Just before they left that little, decrepit tavern in that inconsequential town, Riza had first tried to wash the blood from her hair. From the barely muffled curses he could hear from the washroom, Roy presumed that she found this task rather difficult. After a solid hour of work, she emerged—the hair a few centimeters below her ears was dripping wet and hanging limply at her shoulders, the remainder of her head and hair tucked carefully beneath an oversized cap that only made her face seem smaller and more distressed than it already was.

Now, watching her sleep under the influence of drugs, tucked carefully into the hospital bed, Roy felt himself grow nauseated by how _red_ the yellow stands of hair were, stained so deeply, blood red close to the base of her scalp that he thought he might never see her hair as blonde again.

Irritated, he went to the nurses' station and explained his predicament. A portly redheaded woman smiled warily and found a small bucket and clean rags, providing them and some gentle soap to the disgruntled alchemist.

It was a slow, tedious process. As gently as he could, Roy used the rag to scrub away the bits of dried blood from Riza's hair. Inwardly, Roy was glad that she was asleep—ordinarily this sort of behavior would never be allowed. But as he gingerly lifted her head from the pillow, he was glad to have the opportunity to do this, to care for her so fully. Even more than that, he was glad to remove the caked red blood from her head—had the opportunity not arisen, his nightmares would forever be filled with a panicked, injured Riza, whose hair heavily dripped of dark, red blood.


	24. Deleted Scene: Five Month Babies

Author's Note: This takes place right before they get to the hospital when Riza has the placental abruption. This was my idea and Dailenna reminded me of it, so I dedicate this outtake to her :)

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Maes Hughes was not really the type to panic. The last time he could recall a reaction even close to panic was when his little Elysia was born and there was enough snow coming down outside to cover his home beyond recognition. That said, however, he could feel his heart racing and nerves fraying as he helped Riza down to his car. It was still pouring outside as he shed his coat and put it on the back seat for Riza to sit on. Roy helped ease the dazed woman into the seat, and then sat down beside her.

"You'll be okay. Doctor Ballard will know what to do."

Roy's voice seemed very uncertain as Maes watched the two from his rearview mirror. Her face was blanched, devoid of color, amber eyes wide with some sort of muted panic, leaning forwards uncomfortably in the seat. Maes couldn't tell for sure, but he was fairly certain that she was crying. Roy's hand had snaked its way carefully into Riza's, and Maes could see her knuckles turning white from the pressure with which she held it. Roy winced.

Not being one to permit such obvious discomfort, Maes decided to take action. "Yanno, Hawkeye, I'm pretty sure it was _you_ who told me that babies are not born in five months!"

Roy's eyes narrowed, obviously gauging Riza's reaction to the comment. He seemed _more_ than ready to retaliate on behalf of them both if Maes' idiocy upset the uncomfortable blonde.

Her reaction made him wonder if he was losing his mind. Perhaps, he rationalized, that the blood loss was getting to her, or maybe the stress of the situation. For all he knew, the indestructible Riza Hawkeye might finally be losing what sanity she had left. After a moment of silence, her eyes met his in the rearview mirror, and she let out a soft, weary laugh, bitter and mirthless. "I hope you're right."


End file.
